


Champion of Hearts

by AutumnDream26



Category: Real Person Fiction, Tennis RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnDream26/pseuds/AutumnDream26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had it all. In the blink of an eye it was gone. Now, filled with bitterness and self-loathing he is an entirely diffrent person. One that not even his family can comprehend or help. Change seemed surreal when suddenly, Melanie, his new bodyguard starts to challenge him and see past his mask of cold indiffrence. Will she bring redemption to Roger Federer or will his darkness swallow her up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"Come on, Rog, it's late."

Mirka was practically begging her husband to go home. He had won the ATP World Tour Finals and was celebrating with his fellow players and friends. The final against Novak had been a 3 set thriller with Roger prevailing after almost 3 hours. He was back to World No. 1. Her husband had succeeded. She was so proud.

Still, it was late and their children needed to sleep. Hell, they all needed to sleep!

“Just a minute, honey,” and Roger leaned in and kissed her. His movements were slightly sluggish, from the exhaustion, but also from the wine and champagne he'd drunk. 

Roger headed towards the other players, bid them goodbye and congratulated Novak again. The brunette did the same, hugging Novak and Stan before they finally headed for the car.

The black Mercedes awaited them.

“Where's the driver?”

“Oh, I gave him the night off. I'll drive.”

The girls were already nestled in the back seat of the car, but Mirka hesitated, her hand hovering over the car door handle. Something inside of her had a bed feeling about this. Like a bad omen. A chill ran through her body despite the warmth of the underground parking lot. Just as she was preparing to tell Roger how she felt his voice beat her.

“What are you waiting for?” he questioned innocently. Seeing his smile and the sleepy faces of her daughters, that weight suddenly lifted off her shoulders and she decided against speaking up.

The worst decision of her life.

“I'm so proud of you, Roger.”

“So are we, daddy.”

His heart swelled in his chest. Winning trophies, the roar of thousands of people were nothing compared to those words from his family. That was what he worked for. He risked a glance at the beautiful woman next to him, Mirka slowly opening her tired brown eyes.

”Roger!”

His smile was ripped off his face as Mirka's scream pierced the silence. Another car was coming their way. Fast. He swerved the car to the left in a desperate attempt to avoid crashing.

A deafening sound engulfed the night as the SUV collided head-on with a tree at full speed. A dead silence took over. The only thing heard for a few excruciatingly long seconds was the harbinger song of a raven.

Death had claimed the night.

~*~

Brown eyes fluttered open only to be closed again at the blinding light. His head was throbbing. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was the party and then driving back home. An accident!

His eyes snapped open again. White surrounded him and the smell of antiseptic invaded his senses. A hospital. He was at a hospital. Alone. 

Where was Mirka? And his daughters? God, were they alright?

Slowly, he pushed his aching body into an upright position. A huge bandage covered his entire chest and even the slightest movement sent blinding waves of pain. However, he had to find his family. Determination kicked in. Gingerly, he swung his legs over the bed. Ignoring the dizziness that took over his body, he forced himself to stand. Using the IV as a support, he started to take small, exhausting steps towards the door.

Suddenly his mother burst through the door. Surprise was etched into her face at the sight of her son. With the shock wearing off, she was finally able to speak:

"Roger! You're awake," relief seeped in her voice. "God, what are you doing out of bed?"

"Mirka and my girls," his jaw clenched in pain."Where are they?"

Sadness laced Lynette's face, for a split second before she schooled her features back to an emotionless mask. She pressed the call button and with her commanding look ushered the weak Roger back to bed while they waited for the doctor.

Roger knew his mother. Something was wrong. She was almost scared to tell him the truth. She probably thought he wouldn't be able to take it in his current state. “Mom, just tell me the truth.” Lynette remained impassive. “Mom, please.”

When it seemed like the older woman would cave, the doctor opened the door. He was in his forties with sandy-blonde hair and emerald eyes. His face bore the marks of time, but his smile was kind and welcoming. 

"It's a pleasure to see you awake, Mr. Federer. You gave us quite the scare."

"Roger, it's only Roger. What's wrong with me? Where's my family?"

The doctor flashed his smile."Well, you were in a car accident. You suffered a serious concussion and you broke 3 of your ribs. One of them punctured your lung so we had to perform surgery to stop the massive internal bleeding. It was touch and go for a minute, but I am happy to say that we expect a full recovery. You'll be back on the tennis court in a matter of months."

The news pleased him, but the most important question had remained unanswered. "Where are my wife and daughters?" he repeated in the most demanding tone he could muster.

A look was exchanged between his mother and the doctor who nodded and excused himself. Roger's heart sunk. Deep down he knew what that meant, but he couldn't wrap his foggy brain aroud that idea.

"Roger, I'm sorry," his mother closed the space between them and placed a comforting hand of his shoulder."Mirka, she didn't make it."

He felt as if someone had ripped his heart out of his chest and crushed it. "What about.." his voice broke.

"Myla and Charlene are fine. Just bruises and a couple of scratches."

At last some good news, but they paled in comparison to what he'd just learned. Tears clouded his vision. His mother's comforting presence suffocated him. He turned his back to her, Lynette's hand dropping to the ground.

 

"I'd like to be alone right now," he rasped out in an attempt to keep his tears at bay. Lynette debated for a few seconds before wordlessly leaving the room.

Finally on his own, emtions took over. Sadness. Desperation. Agony. They clawed at him. The tears were now flowing freely and he felt a sudden need to scream, lash out. Mirka, his Mirka was dead. Why couldn't he have died? It would have been better. But the resounding truth didn't change regardless of how he weeped or pleaded God to switch their places.

She was gone. And it was all his fault.


	2. First Clash

A blood curling scream tore through the night as Melanie Hunter awoke from her nightmare plagued slumber. It had been weeks since she'd returned home following her last assignment and nothing had been the same. Not a day went by that she didn't remember what happened, how everything went wrong in a split second and how helpless she'd been rendered.

 

The ramifications of her failure clawed at her, ripping parts of her soul. People had died and she hadn't been able to stop it. Worse yet, she'd been responsible for some of it.

 

Quitting her job had been easier than she'd expected. Being an F.B.I agent was, after all, impossible when you couldn't even look at yourself in the mirror without seeing blood and slaughtered children.

 

Dragging herself to the kitchen for a cool glass of water to soothe her nerves, she sat down on the couch and grabbed a book. Sleep would not return tonight. Not that she wished for it to. No, what she desperately craved was a peaceful day, a happy day. 

 

Morning found Melanie curled up on the sofa, trapped in the grim pages of yet another crime novel. The annoying beeping of her cellphone brought her back to the realm of the living. A sigh escaped her lips at the caller's ID. 

 

Stan.

 

Or Stanislas Wawrinka as most people knew him. Also one of her beloved friends. They'd met years ago when she'd been sent to assure protection to the players at Wimbledon. He'd lost early in the tournament, but they had gone out, a deep bond forming between them. He'd been pestering her to get out of the house for nearly two weeks now. Reluctantly, she picked up.

 

“Finally,” his deep accented voice began. “I called you yesterday and you didn't pick up.”

 

Melanie cringed at the underlining accusation.”I was tired and went to bed early,” she apologized meekly

 

“I was worried,” admitted Stan.”You quit your job and you won't tell me anything. I want to help you, but you won't let me in.”

 

Melanie let out a deep breath. It wasn't the first time they were having this conversation and they both knew the outcome. Still, she had to love Stan for his resilience. “You know I can't tell you about my work. Besides, it's over. Let the past rest, Stan.”

 

“But,” he immediately protested.”It's for your own sake. You need to talk about it. It's sucking the life from you.”

 

“Stan, please, let it go. For me,” she whispered the last words, nearly begging.

 

He exhaled, aware that he'd not penetrated her walls. Again. “Ok, but this conversation is far from over. This isn't why I called anyway.”

 

Confusion seeped into the woman. “Then why did you call?”

 

“You know I'm friends with Roger Federer, right?”

 

“Yes, of course.” Where was Stan going with this? Melanie didn't understand the reasoning behind his question. Obviously, she knew Roger Federer. He was only the biggest name in tennis after all. And she enjoyed watching tennis. At least she used to. 

 

The pregnant pause in Stan's speech told her that she probably wouldn't like where this was headed and as soon as he regained his ability to form words, she was proven right.

 

“He's got a stalker.”

 

“So? What does that have to do with me? Sure, I feel sorry for him, but that's about it.”

 

“Mel, don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you,” he reproached.

 

Melanie inhaled deeply. Of course she knew what he was getting at. And she was not doing it.

 

“What is it exactly you want from me, Stan?”

 

“I want you to come and help us protect him. Maybe you could even look into the notes, find clues as to who this person is. I mean, you've been a bodyguard before and you're brilliant at your job. I don't know anybody more qualified than you...”

 

“Stop,” she cut him off.”I am not what you or Roger Federer need right now. I can't help you, Stan. I'm sorry. Tell Roger I'm sorry too.”

 

“No!” he raised his voice.”You don't understand! Roger is the problem. No bodyguard has lasted in his employment more than 2 weeks. Ever since his wife died, he's changed. I can't get through to him. He's reckless and no bodyguard could keep up with him. And now these death threats,” his voice trembled.”I can't lose my best friend. Please, Melanie. I'm begging you.”

 

That was it. He'd done it again. Played at her heartstrings and she couldn't say no to him. She'd read in the papers about the tragic Federer car accident, but she didn't know the extent of the damage done to the player. “Alright, I'll try. How do I always end up doing what you ask?”

 

“Thank you!” exclaimed Stan over the phone.”I've had tickets arranged for you. You're flying to Australia tonight.”

 

“I'm not even going to get started on the fact that you sent tickets before you spoke to me.”

 

“Oh, I know you. Enough to know that you would not abandon someone in need.”

 

“You could just say you're a jerk.”

 

“A jerk you can't help loving,” he added sheepishly.

 

Stan soon hung up, needing to go train for the upcoming Grand Slam event.

 

So, in the course of 15 minutes, she'd gone from unemployed and depressed to being hired to keep Roger Federer alive. Boy, did karma have a way with her.

 

 

24 hours later

 

Melbourne's scorching sun and humid weather greeted Melanie as soon as her plane touched down. She'd never been to Australia, but she'd read enough articles on the Internet to be weary of venomous insects and reptiles. To be honest, she was nervous about her meeting with Roger Federer. She'd only spoken to him once, and he'd been polite and a gentleman, but apparently a monster had replaced that kind person.

 

And who could blame him? Curiosity had gotten the best of her and she'd researched his car accident. The press hadn't clawed many information, but nonetheless there was enough for her to realise what a tragedy it had been. 

 

Let's not forget you used to have a crush on him.

 

Her inner voice reminded her. 

 

Indeed, Roger Federer was, in her entirely non-expert opinion, the greatest of all times. But those were not the only reasons why she'd been reluctant to take the job. Sure, Stan didn't doubt her abilities and neither had she. Until 3 months ago. When she'd made a terrible mistake. A fatal mistake.

 

“Melanie!”

 

She turned around and came face to face with a tall, lean figure. “Stan!” she jumped in his extended arms. “I've missed you,” she mumbled in his chest.

 

“Me too. I'm so happy you're here. It will be just like old times.”

 

Only I'm not that person any more, she bitterly thought. Still, she plastered a smile and nodded, not trusting her voice. Without a warning, he took her bags, motioning for her to follow him.

 

Her protests died in her throat. He was aware that she was strong enough to carry her own luggage, yet he always insisted on doing it for her.

 

“So, tell me more about this stalker,” Melanie inquired once they were in Stan's car. 

 

“He's been sending notes for about 7 months. At first they were harmless, but slowly escalated. He sent photos of Roger's house and painted disturbing fantasies,” his grip on the wheel tightened, turning his knuckles white. “Roger will tell you more,” sadness clouded his eyes,” He doesn't speak to me. He doesn't speak to anyone.”

 

“What makes you think he'll speak to me, then?”

 

A quick glance from Stan's brown eyes was enough. “He won't, will he?”

 

“He'll show you the notes, though.”

 

The pitying look her friend was offering clarified one thing: this was not going to be a walk in the park.

 

Roger Federer would make sure of that.

 

The hotel they were staying in was palatial, unlike those the F.B.I would book for their agents. She had to admit it was a pleasant change. Her room was on the 13th floor while Roger had the penthouse, informed Stan.

 

“I don't recall him being so arrogant as to stay in the penthouse,” she pondered aloud.

 

“He's changed,” his voice laced with sadness.”I'll take you to meet him, if you'd like. He's probably finished practice by now.”

 

“Sure.”

 

The luxury of the apartment was obvious the moment she set foot inside it. Tasteful artwork decorated the walls which were painted a posh beige. Oversized windows allowed the natural light to shine through and potted plants added life to the space. A spiral, marble staircase led to the bedroom, assumed Melanie. 

 

“Roger!” yelled Stan, unimpressed by the opulence of the place. He tried again. No answer came so he took her hand and guided her up the stairs. Too star-struck to form a coherent sentence she merely followed him. Her assumption was proven correct as a mahogany door opened to reveal an imposing bedroom. Decorated in the same neutral tones, a king sized bed lay in the middle of the room, but the balcony resembled those seen in magazines: with its own swimming pool and a view to die for.

 

“Who are you?” a gruff voice pulled her out of her reverie.

 

Blinking, she turned around and came face to face with Roger Federer. A shirtless Roger Federer, with sweat still glistening on his toned body. She opened her mouth and closed it again, aware that she looked just like a fish.

 

“She's Melanie Hunter, your new bodyguard,” came Stan to the rescue, giving her time to compose herself.

 

“Why is she in my bedroom? Uninvited, must I add?”

 

Melanie felt like she was sucker punched. Not only did he not remember her, but Stan had been right. There wasn't a hint of kindness in those riveting brown eyes, only malice.

 

“I invited her.” defended Stan immediately.

 

“Well, I didn't. And my employees don't just wander off in my personal quarters without my permission.”

 

“She's also one of my best friends.” added Stan to justify her presence.

 

“So she should be in your bedroom then,” he eyed her from head to toe. “Just make sure your wife doesn't find out. She's not worth throwing your marriage out the window.”

 

Melanie regained her senses just in time to see Stan clench his fists, radiating fury. She knew she had to do something before this turned into a fight. Biting down on her own anger, she spoke.

 

“Mr. Federer, I can assure you that my relationship with Stan is purely friendly, but even if that were not the case, it would frankly be none of your business.”

 

Stan's gasp echoed through the room. Roger's surprise was just was big, but he knew how to hide it. He had learned how to hide all of his emotions. Not a single one of his bodyguards so far had had the guts to stand up to him.

 

“So she speaks,” he remarked sarcastically.

 

“Yes, I do. And I came here to see the notes from your stalker and for us to set up some ground rules. But we can do that when you're more,” she cleared her throat and gestured to his body,”Dressed. I promise I will not enter your room again unless there's an emergency.”

 

“I have no problem with the way I am dressed, but if it bothers you that much, wait downstairs while I take a shower and get dressed.”

 

Melanie felt her face heating up, knowing she was starting to blush. “It does not bother me, in the least bit!” 

 

“Then you're welcome to stay,” a smug smirk took hold of his features as he bent over to take off his training pants, remaining only in his boxers. Winking, his hands reached the hem of his boxers, enjoying the look on his Melanie's face. He'd never had a female bodyguard before, but it was certainly proving to be entertaining.

 

Her eyes widened and her blush deepened. “On second thought, this is highly unprofessional. We'll wait for you downstairs.” Dragging a stunned Stan Wawrinka after her, she left, slamming the door.

 

Oh, yes. He was going to have so much fun. She wouldn't last a week in his service.

 

 

In contrast to Roger's amusement, Melanie was downright seething, pacing and probably well on her way to creating a dent in the polished, parquet floors.

 

“Who does he think he is? To talk like that to me? Does he not have an ounce of respect for those that work for him? And about you? You've been best friends for years. How does he dare treat you like that?”

 

How Stan wished he could explain the circumstances that have transformed Roger into this bitter person, but it was not up to him. Roger would hate him if he disclosed some of the things that had been said between the two of them during one of Roger's drunken stupors. The one time he'd truly opened up. Stan would bet his life that said night was also the reason behind the disdain and contempt he was being treated with.

 

“Melanie, stop pacing, you're making me nauseous.”

 

The woman sighed, stopped her rambling and took a seat next to him, sinking into the comfortable leather couch. “He's infuriating. What did you get me into?”

 

And you haven't seen anything yet, pondered the tennis player.

 

“I know. He's insensitive, arrogant, sarcastic, obnoxious and the list could go on forever.”

 

“Then why did you ask me to come here? I don't understand.” she closed her eyes, hoping it will ease the headache that had been slowly building.

 

“Because in spite of all that, he's still my best friend and I'm genuinely concerned about his well-being. This stalker, I'm afraid he'll hurt Roger.”

 

The softness of his voice revealed the sincerity of his words.”I understand, Stan. But you know me. I'm volatile, I can't hold my tongue, I despise it when people act like they're superior. He's everything I hate in a person.” she started to massage her temples.”I don't think I can do this.”

 

Stan knew her words to be truthful and he acknowledged what happened when tempers like those of Melanie and Roger collided. Yet he couldn't help the feeling in his gut that told him that this was the right way to go. A man true to his instincts, he pleaded,” Just promise me you'll try. For me.”

 

Silence invaded the room. Eventually, the brunette whispered just as gently.

“I promise.”


	3. Stay

"I see you got cozy while waiting for me,” Roger quipped, descending the stairs. Melanie straightened her back at the penetrating voice and, without realizing, put a greater distance between her and Stan. 

 

Roger ignored the woman and plopped himself in the armchair situated in front of the couch. Melanie could feel his intense gaze practically burning her skin. She'd never admit it out loud, but he was a little intimidating. 

 

He threw a bunch of papers on the glass coffee table and expectantly looked at her. “You said you wanted to see them,” he smugly declared.

 

“Them?” asked Melanie perplexed.

 

Roger snorted at her dumb struck expression. “Stan, I though you were actually bringing in a smart one. Guess I was wrong.” 

 

Just who did he think he was? Her hopefully witty retort was stopped by Stan.

 

“You have no idea how smart and overly qualified she is for this job,” defended her friend for the second time today. Roger merely shook his head.

 

OK, more than just a _little_ intimidating. What in the world was he talking about? She needed to snap out of this mood before she made an even bigger fool of herself. Not that it was all that hard, at the moment.

 

“The stalker notes,” Roger finally put her out of her misery.

 

Melanie gave herself a mental slap. This behaviour was unlike her. She didn't recognize herself. Where was the tough woman she prided herself to be?

 

“Right,” she embarrassedly mumbled, picking up the letters, ignoring the arrogant expression laced in Roger's face.

 

Initially, she noticed the neat handwriting. It was something you rarely saw in a psychotic stalker. It raised a red flag and caught her attention. The men were exchanging some words, but she was too immersed in the disturbing messages to acknowledge them. Quickly scanning the first couple of letters, they seemed ordinary stuff, fans admittedly a bit obsessed might say about wishing to meet him. The next one though sent chills down her back:

_  
“Why haven't you answered my letters? You said you would, but you're just like them all- a liar! I'm not mad though, I just wish we could see each other and talk more. We're so much alike. The person I loved also died. Still, no one knows the truth about how. Only you and I. I'm tired of this distance between us, so just come to me.”_

Melanie took a deep breath to settle herself. The next ones was even more unsettling.

 

_“Still no answer. I'll have to come to you if you don't want to come to me. We'll meet again shortly.”_

 

_“I came by your house today. You should let your bodyguards know I'm family, but nonetheless it wasn't that hard to enter. I love the new colours of your bedroom and living room. I'll paint our house just the same for when you come live with me. Still, I would appreciate it if you got rid of the kids' rooms. Too bright and alive for people like us. It's not like you spend that much time with them any ways. See? No one knows you better than I do.”_

 

_“I demand to know who that woman in your hotel room is. I know you're only making me jealous, but when I saw you two together, I imagined myself squeezing the life out of those eye. For us I would have done it. Yet she was gone too fast. Don't worry, I forgive you, love, and I'll be with you tonight, as usual.”  
_

_“Did you like my surprise? Just have a little more patience and we'll be together, forever. I promise you, my love. Soon, nothing will be able to keep us apart. Very soon.”_

 

Melanie raised her eyes from the notes and found both men watching her curiously. “What surprise is he talking about?”

 

A brief flicker of emotion crossed Roger's eyes, but it was gone so fast that Melanie wondered if she hadn't imagined it. 

 

“He killed my kids' dog and wrote _'mine'_ on my front door with its blood.”

 

A gasp echoed in the room's eerie silence. This was so much worse than Melanie had expected. It was not a normal celebrity being stalked by a crazed fan. No, this was a psychopath who wouldn't hesitate to use any means to reach his goal. Besides, a grim suspicion had already formed in her mind, but she didn't dare voice it. Not until she was sure. She'd only gone up against two people like this. Once, she'd won, but the second time was a failure that still hung like a shadow over her head.

 

“You need better protection.” she concluded.

 

Stan snorted at the same time as Roger shook his head. “Good luck getting him to agree to more protection. He barely accepted you, Mel.”

 

Melanie's brown orbs bore deeply into Roger's obsidian ones. “I'm not enough. Not against this kind of threat.”

 

“I don't care. Look, Stan, I accepted her in respect for our friendship, but no more than one. I don't even need them,” he turned to face Melanie.”Only you or no one.”

 

The woman's blood was starting to boil in her veins. Was this man completely oblivious to the danger he was exposing himself to? 

 

“Look,” she tried explain.”I don't think you comprehend the amount of danger you are in. This man is a highly intelligent and deranged psychopath who has developed an obsession with you. He will stop at nothing until he has you.”

 

“I understand that.”Roger paused and Melanie breathed out a sigh of relief. He was finally coming to terms with the gravity of the situation. “And I don't give a damn. So choose: stay or go. Either is fine by me, but I'm not hiring a bunch of stupid goons to follow me around.”

 

“Then you're an idiot and you deserve what's coming your way, Mr. Federer.”

 

Both looked just as surprised at her, but she had had enough of their stupidity. She'd flown halfway across the globe for this man's life, yet he was throwing it away. Another glimmer of emotion shined through his mask, but she was probably seeing things again. This man had no feelings whatsoever. 

 

“I see. You can let yourself out.” He stood up and turned his back on them.

_Stay. Stay. Stay._

“Wait!” she bolted up from the couch. Her voice had obeyed her inner self's plea without checking with her brain first. Expectant eyes bore holes in her body as she struggled to find her next words. “I never said I was leaving.”

 

Inwardly she was punching herself for this decision. Somehow, she felt that it was going to bring her heartbreak. 

 

“So, you're staying.”

 

“Yes, I am, but we need some rules.”

 

“Fine by me,”his superior smirk back in place.

 

“Which you are going to follow,” she growled at him.

 

“Hit me,” he sat down again.

 

She sighed. This was going to be a hell of an assignment and she had already started to regret her choice. Damn her do-gooder nature. It was going to get her killed one day.

 

“I will literally hit you if you don't start taking this seriously.”

 

He schooled his features into a neutral expression. Aware that she wasn't going to get anything better, she took a deep breath and began:

 

“You do not go outside without me. Or at least you will let me know where you are at all times,” he seemed to want to interrupt so she quickly continued.”You do not enter your house or hotel room unless I've checked it first. And you always allow me to check your car before driving.”

 

“That won't be be a problem. I don't drive,” a serious expression clouded his face.

 

That took her by surprise. Why wouldn't he drive. Still, it was the first good news she'd received in a long time. “Then I can drive you around. If that's ok with you.”

 

“Whatever,” his smugness had practically vanished into thin air.”Are we done here? I'm tired and I need to sleep.”

 

Melanie was confused by his sudden mood change and she went over her words to see what might have upset the tennis player, but nothing came to mind. “O-of course.” she stood up to leave yet Stan wasn't budging, looking at his friend with knowing expression. Well, she was clearly not staying any longer than needed in this penthouse so there was no way she was waiting for Stan. Besides, they might need their privacy. 

 

Starting to make her way to the exit, she turned on her heels. “Remember to call me if you want to go out. Stan can give you my number,” she reminded before finally closing the door behind her.

 

Her hotel room seemed plain and boring in comparison to the opulence she'd just left, but this felt more like her scene than the penthouse ever did. A shower helped her freshen up and ease some of the nerves the letter had brought. Neither Stan nor Roger realized the depth of the man's insanity. She did and if she were to be honest, she'd admit that she was terrified. 

 

Tens of thousands of people came to see the Australian Open and she would bet her life that the stalker was one of them. That wasn't even her biggest problem. Roger was. He was obnoxious and careless with his life. She had no idea how to keep him safe if he wouldn't help her. All she knew was that her heart wouldn't handle more death around her. 

 

“God, don't let me fail again.” she begged before laying down to catch some much needed sleep.


	4. Of Gut Instincts and Contradictions

Morning came around fast and Melanie's phone interrupter her slumber. Groggy, she rolled over and answered it. A gruff voice she knew met her.

 

"I'm going to train in less than half an hour. If you're not in my hotel room by then I'll go without you."

 

"Good morning to you too, Roger," she sarcastically responded, but he'd already hung up. "Charming as usually." 

 

God, I'll go crazy with this man, she added for herself as she dragged her weary body out of bed. Jet lag was killing her. A shower helped a bit, but she felt moody and knew that if Roger pushed her buttons today, she would push back even harder. Besides, the stress brought on by those letters and the nagging feeling that something would go wrong was overwhelming. Unaware if there was some sort of dress code expected, she put on a pair of black jeans and a simple black shirt, paired them with red sneakers, in the hope that that her casual outfit would do. Brushing her straight, brown hair, she skipped breakfast and headed straight for the penthouse.

 

To her relief, Roger was waiting for her on the couch. “Stefan and Severin are already waiting for us at the court.” He stood up and breezed past her, exiting the room.

 

“Yeah, well, you're the one who didn't mention I would have to wake up this early.”

 

His onyx eyes turned for a minute and she could swear a hint of a smirk was on his face. Did he take pleasure in annoying her? She swore she heard him say something under his breath, but it was inaudible and she ignored him for the rest of the short walk to the court. From the moment they'd stepped into the open, her mind had retreated into bodyguard mode, her senses aware of every move around them.

 

It seemed to be an open practice, people waiting in the bleachers and begging for an autograph. Roger started for them, but Melanie caught his hand. “You're not going to them.”

 

Amusement shone in his eyes.”And how do you plan on stopping me?” he yanked his hand and headed straight for the fans. Rolling her eyes, Melanie followed him. There were mostly kids and a few adults who stepped back to make room for the youngest of fans. They didn't seem like a threat, but Melanie had learned that the most harmless people could be the most dangerous so she remained alert. In spite of that, she couldn't miss the look of pure happiness that graced the youngsters' faces. This small gesture of Roger's could bring so much joy and she felt warmth prickle at her eyes. Especially since the last kids she'd been around had suffered horrible endings.

 

After being done, Roger stepped back, eyeing her curiously. Blinking back her tears, she silently nodded towards the older men approaching them wishing that the tennis player would not question her strange behaviour. Thankfully, he didn't, choosing to turn towards those who Melanie knew to be Stefan Edberg and Severin Luthi.

 

Introductions were quick, both men being polite, but reserved. Seeing Roger Federer train was enthralling. The fluidity of his movements combined with his unequalled elegance were like nothing Melanie had ever witnessed. A missed hit sent a ball at her feet and when Roger jogged to get it, her real purpose for being there hit her like a brick wall. Scanning the bleachers once again revealed nothing suspicious, but all of a sudden, with Roger by her side she could not shake off the feeling that somebody was watching them. Her gut instinct was rarely if ever wrong. Body stiffening and blood running cold she placed her hand on Roger's shoulder.

 

“How much longer do you think you'll be?”

 

“At least another half an hour. Why?” his answer was one of the most polite ones he'd offered, but she still felt eyes boring into them. Nevertheless she knew she could not cut short his training because of a 'feeling' so she let her hand fall to her hip.

 

“Never mind. It was nothing. Carry on.”

 

Roger seemed to want to push her for more answers. For whatever reason he decided not to and she thanked God for that. She did not want to alarm him over nothing. Checking the bleachers again without noticing anything out of the ordinary, she willed her tense muscles to relax. 

 

Hours later, Melanie was back in her hotel room in order to get changed for lunch with Stan. Roger had wanted to go out and apparently her clothes were not good enough for the fancy restaurants Mr. I'm-too-perfect frequented. Mumbling insults under her breath she picked out a pair of black dress pants and a more elegant emerald green top. Considering wearing high-heels, she rationalized that she was still on the job and it would not be suitable so she went for a sensible pair of flats. It was a simple outfit, but it would have to do.

 

Arriving at his penthouse, she was surprised to find him on the couch, his scowl not marring his face. He looked more like the Roger Federer she'd met years ago and grown to respect and appreciate not only as a player, but as a person.

 

“We really need to talk about who should be waiting who,” he smirked, but for the first time it was not fuelled by malice. 

 

“Then you really need to start giving me a heads up. Besides, it's your fault you did not like my clothes.” That's when she realized that her best friend wasn't there. “And Stan hasn't even arrived yet.”

 

“He's not coming.” Upon reading her confusion he continued.”Ilham is here and they have some things to talk about.”

 

“Are they having problems?” 

 

Roger averted his eyes for a fleeting second. “You should ask him.” he finally concluded confirming in a way her suspicions. The couple was indeed going through a rough patch. Images were flashing before her eyes and she recalled all the times in which Stan used to send her pictured of his happy family. None had been sent lately. Why hadn't he said anything to her? 

 

Because you've been too busy lamenting yourself and burdening him with your problems, answered her subconscious. The worst part was that the words reflected the truth. When was the last time she'd asked him how he was feeling? She was a terrible friend, but she'd make it right, she swore to herself.

 

“So, where are we going?”she asked Roger trying to change the subject.

 

“Vue de Monde,” he responded in perfect French. “It's my favourite in Melbourne.”

 

She nodded and followed the taller man to the parking lot. Stopping in front of a silver Mercedes, he threw her the keys and headed for the passenger's door. Melanie stared at the shiny metallic object in her hand. She had never been to Melbourne and had no idea how to get to 'Vue de Monde' or whatever the name was.. 

 

“I...” she bit her lip.”I have no idea how to get to the restaurant. Are you sure you don't want to drive?”

 

Roger's expression went from relaxed to angry. Still, his eyes held a sadness that he quickly disguised behind contempt. “I told you I don't drive,” he sneered entering the car and slamming door behind him. Cursing herself for her stupid mouth and wishing she could take back the words and restore the laid-back mood she also got in the car. The cold atmosphere and silence was weighing on her because she felt guilty for causing it.

 

'He was finally being decent and you have to go and ruin it,' reproached her inner self. And Melanie did regret it. Still, that didn't change anything and she started the engine, but did not move the car. She was clueless as to how to get to the restaurant. She opened her mouth to ask the seething man.

 

Roger beat her to it. “Just go straight and take the second left. Then continue down that street. Not even you could miss the huge sign.” his voice devoid of any real emotion.

 

Melanie ignored his veiled insult. She could not help but wonder what had brought on his adversity towards driving, but she did not know him enough to even guess. The silence was deafening as she followed his instructions. Some part of her did not want to continue to step on his toes and instead get along. 

 

As assumed, she'd spotted the sign from at least a mile away and pulled up in the front. A valet took the car keys from her and a maitre d' showed them to a secluded table for two. The man took the chair out for her, but Melanie knew how unprofessional it would be for her to dine at the same table as her employee. Had Stan been there the situation would have been different. Yet he wasn't and she probably couldn't afford a thing on this menu, anyway.

 

“No, there's no need for that,” she shook her head.”He's the only one who'll be eating. I'm his bodyguard so I'll stay in a corner or something.” 

 

“That won't be necessary.” Roger's icy voice intervened.

 

This was the first time he'd spoken since the car incident and he surprised her again. An enigma, that's what Roger was for her. The desire to argue was boiling within her, but she decided against it. She was tired of the constant contradictions between her and Roger.

 

“As you wish,” sighing she sat down and the player followed her.

 

As expected, the food was exquisite, but the silence persisted and it made things awkward. She'd texted Stan to ask him to meet her later, but the message had remained unanswered. That did not stop her from checking every two minutes, though.

 

“He's probably still with Ilham,” Roger finally graced her with his voice.

 

“I know, but I just...” she drew a deep breath.”I'd just like to know if he's all right. He didn't even tell me they were having problems.”

 

“He can be like that- Stan.”

 

“Well, at least he had you,” she smiled encouragingly. Yet Roger didn't return it and Melanie wondered if she'd put her foot in her mouth again. That was all she seemed to do around Roger.

 

The man slightly shook his head, seemingly debating something. His face was laced with disapproval at something Melanie wasn't getting. “Just talk to him. He could use a real friend now.”

 

And he wasn't a good friend? Melanie bit her tongue to stop the question. She's butted heads enough with Roger Federer as it was. 

 

“I will,” she promised.

 

In that second her phone buzzed. Stan was telling her they'd talk at the Player's Party tonight since they would probably both be there. And she had no clue what he was talking about.

 

“What Player's Party is Stan talking about? And why am I supposedly attending when I didn't even know of it until a minute ago?”

 

“It's the opening event of Australian Open. Food, music, drinks, paparazzi, you know, the typical stuff,” he sounded bored.” I didn't think you had to go because I was going with Stan.”

 

Here they went again. Why could he get it through his thick skull that she was going everywhere with him? It was like he had a constant death wish. Controlling her anger she forced through gritted teeth. “I'm going,” her tone allowing no further discussion on the matter.

 

Not like Roger gave a damn judging by his expression. “Suit yourself,” he shrugged. If this animosity continued, she would either quit or kill him. She still hadn't decided because just when it felt like they'd made some progress one of them would say or do something to annoy the other. 

 

“Would you care for dessert?” asked a squeaky voice with a foreign accent.

 

Turning her head, Melanie saw the waitress' platinum blonde hair, but the other woman didn't even spare her a glance. She was focusing her hazel eyes on Roger's figure, a starstruck expression marring her features.

 

“I don't,” Roger raised an eyebrow at Melanie.

 

Understanding his silent question she also mumbled a 'no' and the woman left to fetch the check. Reaching for her purse and hoping she had enough money on her to cover her iced tea and salmon dish, she was stopped by Roger.

 

“I've got it.”

 

Had it been anybody else, she would have felt flattered , but with Roger it felt like he was showing off. It made her feel inferior. One look at his face and the protests died of her tongue. This was a losing battle and she had to be smart in picking her fights with him.

 

“Suit yourself,” she repeated the words he'd said earlier hopefully with the same indifference. 

 

Exiting the restaurant, she again felt as if somebody was staring at them and just like at the court she could see nobody. This was starting to creep her out so she quickened her pace. To her bewilderment Roger merely followed her lead. A breath she didn't realize she'd been holding escaped her lips once they were safely inside the sedan.

 

“Are you all right?” and actual concern filled Roger's tone.

 

“I-I'm not sure.” 

 

Doubt was starting to creep inside her mind. Was she imagining things? Had her last assignment made her too paranoid? Or was her gut instinct actually right and there was something off? She didn't want to trouble him- he had a match that required focus tomorrow so she rectified her answer:

 

“It's nothing. Don't worry about it.” she hid the tremble of her hands by placing them on the steering wheel.

 

He didn't seem to buy her words or her fake smile, but didn't push for more. She was thankful for that. The Player's Party came back to plague her mind. What would she do there? She would stick out like a sore thumb among the best tennis players in the world.

 

“What am I supposed to wear at the Party tonight?” her mouth blabbed off again.

 

A smirk lightened his features at her clear bafflement. “A cocktail dress should do.” and the superior air had returned.

 

Who did he think he was? And how did he even know what a cocktail dress was? Her last boyfriend barely knew the difference between a sundress and an evening gown. Before long, the question was already out.

 

A shroud of sorrow covered his face. Staring out the window and avoiding her brown orbs he answered his voice barely above a whisper. “Mirka taught me.”

 

Melanie cringed at his softly spoken response. His wife. His dead wife.

 

“I'm so...” she began her apology only to be cut off by his stern voice.

 

“Don't,” steel cold onyx clashed with remorseful chocolate.”Just don't.”

 

And for once in her life Melanie obeyed. Casting a fleeting look his way, she saw his shiny eyes reflected in the window. It was like he was a different man from the arrogant, annoying, obnoxious, self-righteous bastard he projected to the world. No, this person was bottling his rage, sorrow and anger deep behind that facade.

 

Focused on the road in front of her, Melanie gave the grieving man his space. She honestly hadn't meant to hurt him and if she could take it back she would. And now everything made sense: his behaviour was this bitter because of the suffering he'd experienced. Life had hardened him as if did her.

 

“The party is at 9 o'clock. If you still wish to come, I'll be in my penthouse.”

 

“I'll be there.”

 

Another apology was dying to come out, but somehow she knew he wouldn't appreciate it. Instead, she kept quiet, the purr of the engine filling the air.

 

Returning to her room, Melanie raided her closet in search for a suitable dress. The only thing she came up with was a simple black dress that stopped right above her knees and a pair a crimson stiletto heels. Keeping it relaxed, she added some pearls and natural make-up. Completing her outfit with a black satin clutch she prayed to God she would not have to run after some crazy stalked in 6 inch heels. Otherwise she might end up with a broken neck.

 

Albeit early, she decided to go to Roger's penthouse. If only to show him that she could be punctual! Her phone halted her strut to the front door. Confusion stirred up in her belly when Roger's name appeared on the screen.

 

“I need you here. Now!” authority intertwined with fear conveyed only one message:

 

Something was seriously wrong.

 

Newly awakened panic made her forget all about the death trap shoes she was wearing. She ran down the hallway as if her life depended on it.

 

Roger's might as well do.


	5. Of Friendships and Tears

Faster. Run faster.

 

The words echoed in Melanie's head as she took the stairs three at a time. Waiting for the elevator hadn't even crossed her mind. She needed to get to Roger's suite as fast as humanly possible. She would not have another person on her conscience. She couldn't bear it. Finally, the penthouse door came into view. It was closed and nothing seemed out of place. Throwing away her good manners, she burst through the door at full speed. 

 

Performing a quick perimeter check, again she came to the conclusion that nothing was amiss , but the eerie silence that filled the room made the hairs at the back of her head raise. That was always a bad omen. Resting her fingers on the gun tucked inside her clutch, she called:

 

“Mr. Federer, are you here?” No answer came.”Mr. Federer,” she tried again louder.

 

The bedroom door opened and the tennis player's tall silhouette appeared. Melanie let out a sigh of relief upon seeing that he was unharmed.

 

“You need to see this,” his voice was slightly shaking.

 

Only then did she study him closer. He was fighting to remain in control of his emotions, but fear was clearly sizzling beneath the cool exterior, his trembling hands wrestling with the door. She wanted to reach out and help him, but knew her supporting gesture would not be received as such. 

 

What could have him so disturbed?

 

The sight that lay before her in the bedroom made her blood run cold. Pictures were spread out on the floor: hundreds of them while a single black rose rested atop the bed, a note under it. “Oh, my God,” she gasped.

 

How had the stalker breached the tight security of the hotel? How could she have allowed him to get so close? What if he had decided to wait for Roger? She only shuddered at the last question.

 

Suppressing her own emotions, she bent to pick up some of the photographs. They had been made today. At practice, at the restaurant and even in the parking lot . Someone had been watching them after all. Although they were mainly snapshots of Roger, one made her freeze. It was her, looking straight into the lens of the camera. Her face was crossed out with an X painted in bright red- the colour of blood.

 

Did that mean he wanted to kill her? Or was this simply a tactic to scare her off? Would this man go as far as murder? Somewhere deep inside herself she knew the answer, but she didn't want to accept it and the ramifications of it yet.

 

Clearing her throat, she lifted her eyes from the photos to look at Roger. “Did you read the note?”

 

Shaking his head and gathering his thoughts, the man responded:

 

“No, I called you as soon as I entered the room.”

 

Not even concerned about destroying finger prints- she knew there wouldn't be any- she grabbed the rose, a thorn digging into her thumb. Ignoring the throb, she tossed aside the flower and picked up the envelope. Her peripheral vision registered Roger drawing himself closer to her in order to read the letter over her shoulder.

 

_“Who is the slut your so-called friend brought? I know they are filling your head with lies, but don't worry, my love, we'll be together soon like I promised. And she'll get her punishment for trying to come between us. Rest assured, I'll make sure of that, my love. Just wait for me and remember: no one loves you like I do.”_

 

In a twisted poetical way, blood had dripped from her finger, sealing off the killer's vow. Was the fact that it was her blood some sort of divine warning? Would he kill her if given the opportunity?

 

“He's going to hurt you,” Roger finally cut through the thick blanket of silence voicing her own thoughts. “He might go after Stan, too. Because of me.” his eyes clouded with the realisation.

 

His interpretation of the deranged man's words was spot on, but Roger was ignoring an important aspect. 

 

“No, he's not. I won't allow that to happen.” Melanie stated hoping her voice was as steady as she wished to let on, but her bravado didn't seem to convince Roger.

 

“How can you say that?” he yelled.” Look around you. He took these,” he gestured to the photographs,”of us today! And you were as oblivious as I was! He probably passed right by us. Maybe I signed him an autograph. God!”

 

Melanie wanted to scream that she hadn't been oblivious. But what could she say? That she had indeed felt him lurking, but she'd doubted her instincts because she'd allowed a bunch of innocent kids to be slaughtered on her last assignment. Yeah, like that discussion would prove her abilities to protect him.

 

“I admit I was unprepared today and he took me by surprise, but that will not happen again, I promise. I can protect you, I will protect you. I just need you to trust me.”

 

Roger slumped on the bed, his head in his hands. “What about the threats?” his voice carried a defeated undertone.”Who'll protect you?”

 

His question surprised her. She wouldn't have expected him to be worried about anyone besides himself, but obviously that was not the case. The arrogant, selfish man had made room for the person she'd once known. It made her wonder which version was the real Roger. While his concern was flattering, she did not take kindly to people claiming she could not take care of herself.

 

“I can look after myself. I've been doing it since I was 17.”

 

Roger shook his head at the determination the woman was showing. Couldn't she see that he was worried that his stalker was going to kill her? He loathed only the thought of someone else's life being cut short because of him. “It's not the same. You've said it yourself, this is a deeply deranged individual who would stop at nothing to achieve his goal. And that's having me,” he ran a hand over his face, tired brown orbs clamping shut.

 

She knelt in front of him so she could stare into his obsidian eyes. “And you're forgetting that I've worked with the F.B.I. I've gone head to head with the most dangerous of criminals before.”

 

“And have you always won?”

 

There it was. The million dollar question. How could she answer this one honestly when she refused to admit even to herself the disaster that her last mission had turned into. A massacre. A massacre she could have prevented.

 

“I'm still here, aren't I?” she evaded a definite answer.

 

Roger shook his head at her resilience. The steel in her eyes notified him that there was no way to convince her to give up. And he wasn't sure he wanted her to. There was something about her that drew him in. He was convinced that her eyes hid a deeply buried secret. 

 

Something that hurt her. Something she was trying to keep from the outside world. Something he yearned to know on a subconscious level. Yet, he knew how it was to hide pain from the people surrounding you. And it wasn't easy to remove the tight lid you'd put on your emotions.

 

They weren't so different after all.

 

The phone buzzed, bringing them both back from their musings. She took it out from her clutch and a fleeting smile graced her lips.”Now, that this pointless discussion is over and we agree that I'm not going anywhere, Stan wants to know if we're coming to the party after all.” 

 

And in that moment Roger knew that if someone could help him escape the claws of his insane stalker that was Melanie Hunter. A newly awakened part of him wished to show this crazy person that he wasn't succumbing to fear. “Yes, we are.”

 

Melanie immediately noticed the shift in his attitude. He was no longer only doom and gloom, instead a slight hope had surfaced. Had she brought that on? “Well, Mr. Federer, I have to say I prefer this arrogant version of you instead of the defeated one you projected merely moments ago.”

 

Her jab should have offended him, I mean who was she to call him arrogant, but he only felt amusement at her antics. “I do too. Call me Roger from now on.” 

 

Her lips formed a small smile before she could stop it. Was he warming up to her? Were his walls coming down? Soon enough she was grinning.

 

“What?” Roger quipped.”Being called 'Mr. Federer' makes me feel old. Don't let it get into your stubborn head that we're friends now.” a playful smirk had taken over his usual scowl.

 

“I wouldn't dream of it, Roger.” she tested the name and it rolled surprisingly easily off her tongue. Sure, she'd said it before when she was with Stan, but being able to address him with his first name gave a liberating feeling to her. Like the huge gap between them was lessening. 

 

He was starting to trust her.

 

That gave her a boost of confidence and good mood. Carefully standing up, now perfectly aware of the painful heels she was wearing, she fixed her dress and offered him a hand. Symbolically, it sealed their newly developed friendship. Could she call even call it a friendship? When he grabbed her hand, she concluded that she would until a better word came to mind.

 

“Are you ready for a night with paparazzi, fancy food, drinks and the company of the best tennis players in the world, yours truly included?” he teased.

 

It was a loaded question which brought back her previous insecurities. How would she even blend in at the event? Was there a special booth for bodyguards or something? Surely there must be. She'd been at an event like this once, but she wasn't a personal bodyguard and she'd been posted at the door. Things were so much simpler back then. 

 

“I...” she stuttered.”I'm not sure how I would fit in. I mean I know I'm probably supposed to keep an eye on you from a secluded area or something and not talk with other tennis players, but I'm not sure if I should do that especially after what your stalker did and I...” he cut off her rambling:

 

“You will stay by my side, not in a damp, dark corner like your petty mind imagines,” he continued before she could start talking again.”Stan will also be there so stop worrying.”

 

“How can you sound so confident? I don't know anybody there, at least face to face and not from watching them on TV. They'll know I don't belong there,” she mumbled the last part. While she knew she was pretty, she was aware that she was no where near the statuesque beauties of Maria Sharapova, Ana Ivanovic, Eugenie Bouchard or the imposing presence of Serena Williams. And she would be accompanying none other than Roger Federer who couldn't stop being in the spotlight even if he wanted to. Yeah, she was doomed.

 

“You'll be fine. We, tennis players, don't bite. You might even make some friends,” he winked and she felt something warm stir up inside of her at his carefree attitude. 

 

Tired of worrying about something she had no say into, she decided to let it go. She would attend said party and make the most of it. Even if there were only spoiled brats there. It's not like she was shy or anything, but these were people she admired.

 

Enough of that, she chided herself, welcoming back the sassy Melanie that intimidated most. “Yeah, I've noticed you tennis players are all bark and no bite,” she threw back.

 

“And my bold bodyguard is back,” he jokingly placed his hand over her shoulders and guided her to the door. Biting her lip, Melanie turned to glance at his face. The frown lines marring his forehead were gone momentarily and his eyes were practically smiling. She could bet that there weren't many people who dared defy him or even speak their minds around him. That was probably why he'd kept her around, but the flutter in her stomach and the slight increase of her pulse alerted her that she was about to go down a dangerous road.

 

So she pulled back.

 

Confused, the tennis player turned to her, burning curiosity in his raven eyes.

 

“It's unprofessional and someone might see us,” she responded to his unspoken question, flinching herself at the words.

 

“I understand. Forgive my lack of professionalism,” his eyes hard, expression unreadable.

 

Melanie noted his slight shift in mood. He had averted to his closed off nature, the happiness gracing his features gone for the moment. 

 

I'm sorry, she said in her mind, not daring to utter the words aloud. She'd seen on her last assignment just how bloody things got when you mixed business with feelings in her line of work. She could not afford such a thing. Not with Roger's life on the line. So she bit down on her tongue, drawing blood just to keep the words from coming out.

 

The lounge where the party was being held was more of a ballroom and her eyes widened at the sight of a red carpet and a line of paparazzi waiting for players to exit their cars. She was in one of those car's back seat near Roger Federer. Anxiety gripped her and without realizing she started to gnaw on her fingernails, a bad habit, she'd out grown in her high school years. At least that's what she'd thought. A warm hand placed atop her palm, stopped her. 

 

“You'll be fine.”

 

There was the Roger who made her heart flutter. 

 

Not trusting her own voice, she weakly nodded, more nerves creeping in. And that's when it hit her. She was not wearing a uniform like the other bodyguards. Unlike them she would get out of Roger's personal car in a fancy attire. All of that in front of blood thirsty paparazzi.

 

“What will people think?” she blurted.

 

Baffled, Roger removed his hand from the car's door and turned back to her. And she could see the pieces of the puzzle uniting in his head. “Oh,” he considered it for a moment.”We'll just say you're my friend. I don't want the stalker news going public and I'm not sure how he would react to that anyway.”

 

This plan was wrong on so many levels: she knew speculations would arise regardless of what they'd say and the friend thing never worked with paparazzi anyway. Still, she didn't protest, her voice no where to be found, opting to meekly nod. The same response followed and the door opened. 

 

All hell broke loose. 

 

They were swarmed by blood thirsty paparazzi, who screamed their questions: 

 

'Who is she, Roger?' 'Is she your girlfriend?' 'Are you finally moving on from Mirka?'

 

She felt him tense at the last one, understandably so. Yearning to place a comforting hand on him, she held back knowing it would only cause more problems.

 

“She's one of my dearest friends, visiting from America,” his stern voice silenced everyone. Posing for the required photograph, a perfect fake smile gave off the impression of a happy man. Melanie knew he was anything but that. Was she being presumptuous or did she really see the real Roger Federer?

 

Probably not, she concluded when he grabbed her and pulled her inside the restaurant, his grip so strong she winced. Immediately releasing her, he inhaled deeply, settling the anger boiling.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

Melanie understood how difficult it was for the man to utter those words. “It's all right. You didn't hurt me, I'm not a fragile doll,” she was quick to reassure.

 

“I know.” he opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it again. Roger turned away and headed for a table, leaving Melanie dumbfounded. What was she supposed to do?

 

“You coming?” he arrogantly asked, drawing everyone's attention to them. 

 

Way to make an entrance, Melanie felt her face burn up and she could swear she was blushing furiously. “Of course,” the words laced with a confidence she was lacking on the inside. The table Roger led her to only had 2 more seats vacant.

 

Was one for her? God, why was this so confusing? He couldn't have reserved her a seat at the table he was on, right? Of course, her reasoning was wrong again when he basically commanded her to sit down. 

 

The first ray of light was when she found herself sandwiched between Roger and Stan- the only people she knew there. Only then did she raise her eyes to study the other occupants of the table. She found Novak Djokovic and his wife, Grigor Dimitrov and Maria Sharapova, Eugenie Bouchard and Ana Ivanovic. 

 

“What took you guys so long?” asked Stan.”I thought you weren't coming any more.”

 

“We,” she racked her brain for a response which would not reveal too much, aware that all eyes were on her.

 

“Melanie had some work problems,” Roger saved her, emphasizing the last 2 words.

 

Recognition and a trace of fear entwined in the Swiss' hazel eyes. “Is everything OK?”

 

“For now,” Melanie gave her first articulate answer of the night. Her friend threw her a loaded look, letting her know that they would discuss this matter further when they had privacy. And she raised an eyebrow, sending off the signal that Ilham's visit would also be approached. But no other conversation started, awkward silence reigning.

 

She'd been right, she felt like a fish out of water. All eyes on her and no one even bothered to acknowledge her. They probably considered her below them.

 

“So, you're Roger's friend?” a husky, accented voice finally spoke. 

 

Melanie turned in that direction and her eyes landed on the Bulgarian's warm chocolate brown eyes. “Yes, I'm Melanie Hunter. Roger and Stan's old friend. I'll be coming with them on tour for a while.” her eyes sparkling with gratitude toward the young tennis player.

 

“Well, I'm Grigor Dimitrov. It's a pleasure and I hope you enjoy your time spent here.”

 

“Likewise,” she spoke politely, unaware of the daggers Roger was sending them,

 

“Well, if you do get bored of the guys, you can call me,” warmly declared Ana Ivanovic, living up to the impression Melanie had of her. “I can only imagine how tough it is to spend your time only with guys. Especially oblivious tennis players,” she winked at Melanie, eliciting a few laughs among the table.

 

The atmosphere lightened up and Melanie had made acquaintance with everyone aside from Eugenie Bouchard and Maria Sharapova who remained a tad cold.

 

“So, what made you come on tour?” asked the Canadian.

 

It might seem like easy going conversation for anybody watching, but there was some unexplainable animosity between the two women and Melanie was confused as to the root of it. After all, she'd just met the blonde. “I needed to take a break from work,” Melanie went for honesty.

 

“What work might that be? And why did you need a break?”

 

Sweat broke out on Melanie at the second question. It was too personal so she turned to Roger, eyes begging for help. But it didn't come from Roger.

 

“Gosh, Genie, ease up on the girl. You just met her and you're practically questioning her.” defended Maria.

 

Chastised, Genie hid her displeasure behind her perfect smile. Somehow, Melanie knew she wouldn't challenge Maria. “I'm sorry if I got too personal, Melanie.”

 

Satisfied her instincts were finely tuned again, she relaxed a bit and responded with a spot-on replica of Bouchard's smile.“It's fine. I used to work in law enforcement.” she gave a part of the truth, being met with gasps all around the table. 

 

“So you're Stan's badass, kung-fu ninja,” joked Novak.”He's talked about you.”

 

“He has?” Melanie raised an eyebrow at Stan, surprised that he'd even mention her to his important friends. The Swiss no. 2, shrugged and nodded. “I hope it was all positive?” she teased.

 

“It certainly was. He even told me of when you chased down a notorious drug lord without breaking a sweat. All in high heels.” Novak supplied.

 

The Serb continued with another story about her undercover work to Stan's utter mortification. Apparently, he didn't want her to know he bragged about his 'ninja, invincible friend' to others. His puppy eyes, pleading her to stop Novak made her burst out laughing.

 

Everyone seemed amused by the situation, except from Roger who found himself strangely annoyed. Watching his brown haired bodyguard tilt her head back, exposing her slender neck and her frame shake with laughter at Novak and Stan's childish antics, he wished he was the one making her this happy and carefree. Images flashed before him. Times when in Melanie's seat was Mirka and he was whispering in her ear something amusing. Mirka had smiled softly, her more introverted nature preventing her from expressing herself freely. Like Melanie Hunter was doing now. 

 

Stan patted her shoulder to reassure her of something- he'd lost tack of their discussion- and he was reminded of merely hours ago when he'd done the same and was rejected at the excuse of professionalism. Now, though, she playfully rolled her eyes unable to completely erase her smile.

 

Why was this affecting him? Obviously, she would prefer Novak's jokes and Stan's easy-going presence to his touch. Especially with his Swiss colleague's marriage in shambles, maybe their friendship would evolve into something more. It was clear that a jaded and broken man like him would only receive her 'professional' side. 

 

He wasn't worthy of more.

 

A feather touch of a hand on his leg stopped his train of thoughts before derailing completely and he came face to face with a concerned Melanie. A swift sweep of the table told him that everyone was immersed in conversation and paid them no mind.

 

“Are you all right?” her velvet voice whispered.

 

What was she doing? Wasn't she aware that she was only responsible for his physical well being? Or could it be that she cared?

 

“Does it have to do with what happened this afternoon?” she continued her inquiry. 

 

There it was. Work. He wasn't the person that she could laugh and enjoy herself with. No, he was the burdening assignment. “I'm fine,” he shrugged her off.”Instead of pestering me, prepare to leave. I have a match tomorrow.” 

 

Confused, Melanie could only shake her head at his hurtful words. She thought they'd moved past their disagreement and now he claimed that she pestered him? When he abruptly stood she could only pretend not to be shocked, mumble good-byes and scramble to meet the tennis player who was starting to get on her nerves.

 

By the time the driver pulled up and they entered the car she was fuming. She was just starting to feel welcome, even Maria had deigned to speak to her and he had to go and make a fool of her,

 

“Who do you think you are?” escaped before she could censor herself.

 

Roger raised an eyebrow.”Excuse me?” 

 

“No, I will not excuse you,” she spoke through gritted teeth at his obnoxiousness.”I asked who do you think you are to act that way?”

 

He smirked.”I'm the one who pays for your services, therefore your obedience. You have no right to speak to me like that or demand explanations. None whatsoever.”

 

Blood pressure climbing to the roof, she pictured herself strangling him, but through sublime self-control managed to contain herself. He'd made her feel below him, cheap. She knew he was richer, famous and could have everything he desired, but the words had cut like a knife. 

 

“You may pay for my protective services, but you certainly do not own me. I will obey your work related commands, but my tongue obeys no one but me, Mr. Federer. You'd do well to remember that.”

 

With that biting answer Melanie turned her head to the window, blinking furiously to keep at bay the traitorous tears that his words had awakened. She would not give him the satisfaction of shedding tears. 

 

Roger, on the other hand, blanched at the sharp tone of her voice. Aware that she'd done nothing to bring forth this version of him that only seemed to hurt others, he profoundly regretted saying that to her. It had been a low blow, even by his standards. 

 

She almost jumped out of the car when it reached the hotel and with the last reserves of patience, performed a thorough perimeter sweep of the penthouse before biding the onyx eyed man good-night in the sternest voice she could muster.

 

“I have practice tomorrow morning at 9.” he announced, but she barely acknowledged him continuing towards the exit.

 

“Wait!” 

 

Melanie stopped, but didn't turn around, her body stiff. She found herself hoping against hope that he might apologize and, as stupid as that made her, she would accept it. She knew he was hurting deep inside, but no one had the right to speak to her like that. She would not take it with her head bowed as most of his employees must do. Although, if he was willing to say he was sorry she would forgive him. This time.

 

“I....” Roger halted, a war raging between his head and heart.”Don't be late.”

 

His head and pride eventually won.

 

Her hopes came crashing down.

 

“I won't,” she finally walked out the door, tears once again clouding her vision, but she reminded herself that she didn't cry. She never did. So why did a lone tear slip past her defences?


	6. Of Kisses and Knowledge

The following day was a blur to Melanie. Both Stan and Roger played their first round matches, both of them winning in straight sets. She, well, she tried not to be late in the morning, feat which proved easier than expected because she'd barely got a wink of sleep. Aside from Roger's words, she was painfully reminded of previous mistakes.

 

Mistakes she seemed to be repeating now by getting attached to Roger on a personal level.

 

He made sure to set things straight last night, she thought as she finally collapsed in her own bed. And it was true. They'd barely exchanged a few words today and those were polite at best.

 

A heavy knock served to fully aggravate the woman. Who could disturb her at such an hour, she contemplated. Upon opening the door and seeing the worried face of her current best friend most of her anger dissipated.

 

True to his habits, he entered without an invitation and studied her for a brief moment. “Are you all right?”

 

What could she say? Never a fan of big emotional moments or admitting that everything was not as peachy as she made it out to be she shrugged. Knowing the storm was brewing, she sat down on her bed. Denial was never taken lightly by Stan, the man with his heart on his sleeve.

 

“Just talk to me, Mel. For once in your life just open up.” his voice rose as expected.

 

Although he was practically yelling at her, the knowledge that it came from a place of love made her heart swell. Stan Wawrinka was the best friend anyone could ask for. The mere fact that he was here after his late and tiring match, instead of resting was proof of that.

 

“Please,” he sat next to her.

 

“I,” she swallowed.”I'm not, I guess.” Seeing that she was struggling with what to disclose to him, he allowed her to settle her racing thoughts without speaking another word. “This stalker that Roger has is very serious. He got into his hotel room, Stan, his hotel room. What if instead of leaving another sick message he decided to grab him? God, what if I'm not good enough to protect him?” 

 

Her insecurities flooded one by one into the open. Insecurities that she'd hid from Roger. But unknown to any of the men, she'd once again felt the hairs at the back of her head raise as she stood at the entrance of the court, scrutinizing the bleachers. 

 

Taking her hand, Stan gently spoke.”You are. I know it, deep down you know it and so does Roger. But that's not all that's been bothering you, right?”

 

Screw him and his human feeling detector. 

 

Sensing her hesitation, he continued to prod. “Is it Roger? Has he said anything to you? Do you need me to kick his pompous ass for you?”

 

His tone and the look on his face drew a smile from Melanie. He was spot on since whatever had come over her had been triggered by Roger's words and attitude. Still, it was mostly her baggage that was weighing down her mind and she couldn't let that chip at their already strained friendship. 

 

“No,” she denied shaking her head.”It's... something from the past.”

 

His brows furrowed, wrinkles breaking out on his face. Then it dawned on him. “It's that mission, isn't it? The one you won't speak about?”

 

He was spot on. 

 

She neither denied nor accepted his observation. Silence was also an answer and he took it as such. “Mel, you know I'm here for you. To listen if you want to get it off your chest. Or simply to annoy you with my concern.”

 

She did.

 

His presence and promises reassured her. Before long, she'd wrapped her hands around his chest, enveloping him in a hug. Stan was probably her only friend at the moment since the one she'd had at work had turned their backs on her. Unlike them, the tennis player was always there for her. To her horror, she realized that she wasn't giving anything back to him. Here he was comforting her again, when she'd never even asked about Ilham's visit. She was a terrible friend. Pulling back she crossed her hands and summoned her sternest tone.

 

“Why didn't you tell me you were having problems with Ilham? I had to find out from Roger Federer yesterday.”

 

“I...” she gave him the look that always made criminals crack in interrogation and it worked.”You were dealing with your own issues and I didn't want to burden you with my own.”

 

Could there even exist a more selfless friend? She doubted it.

 

“Stan, I appreciate your concern, but like you I want to know the problems my friends and facing and help them. So, tell me what did Ilham say.”

 

His shoulders slumped, his voice losing some strength. “She wants a divorce.” Rendered speechless at the gravity of the situation she could only gasp. “She believes I'm spending too much time on tour, not paying enough attention the her and Alexia. Yesterday we agreed upon joint custody and the papers will be ready in a week or so.”

 

The fake smile he attempted looked more like a grimace and she seethed at how much Stan was suffering deep down. “You know that's bullshit, right? I haven't met a better or more attentive father in my life.”

 

“Thanks,” he smiled, but it was strained. He didn't believe her.

 

“It's true. Alexia is lucky. My parents left me to be raised by my grandparents. Even if I was staying with them on vacation I would barely speak five words to my dad. I don't have a single memory of us spending time together and having fun. That's what I call a lousy father, not you.”

 

Gratitude obvious in his features he hugged her again. That small glimpse into her childhood had served its purpose- making him acknowledge just how great of a father he was. And it was true, she'd seen him teach his daughter tennis and how to ride a bike. She would have killed for one moment like that with her father. But it never happened.

 

Easy conversation about the tournament and how he felt like he could far in it occupied the rest of the night and soon enough they were biding good-bye, Stan needing all the rest he could get.

 

The next day, she had to wake up early again for Roger's practice session. Again, their exchanges were strained at best, but at least today she felt no one lurking. Not that it meant it was safe, but at least it took some of the edge off. Roger seemed polite, but the friendship she'd thought they'd forged was long gone. 

 

Second round was just as easy for both Swiss and days on tour seemed to roll past Melanie. More than once she found herself glued to the players on court. To be honest, her eyes only lingered on the one who seemed to strike the ball with such elegance and grace that she wondered if he'd had secret ballet lessons.

 

Still, Roger's third round match against Seppi turned out to be a challenge. A challenge he lost, to Melanie's disappointment. She watched the man shake hands at the net and Roger headed to the exit. Bewildered, she noticed him drop his racquet carriers and head for the kids begging for an autograph. When a girl no more than 7 said something his way, she could swear she saw the ghost of a smile. In an instant, she was by his side glancing suspiciously at every single one of the people there.

 

Her relief was unparalleled once he was out of the fans' range and headed for the locker rooms. His match had been the last one, it had taken nearly two and a half hours and she could feel tiredness creeping in. Posting herself at the locker room door she caught a fleeting glimpse of the tennis player before he retreated in the now empty locker rooms. He fought to keep it from prying eyes, but he seemed to be taking his defeat quite seriously. After all, talk of his retirement still persisted regardless that he was world no.2.

 

Through the wooden door, Melanie heard something hitting the floor forcefully and she guessed that it was the racquet carrier. Itching to go in and check if he was fine or if he needed something and damning her do-gooder nature for it, she repeated to herself that she was a mere employee who had no right to barge in there. When the echo of metal against metal reverberated , she acted before thinking straight. Again. 

 

She entered the men's locker room at the Australian Open.

 

The sight that greeted her was a shirtless, sweaty Roger who looked as if she'd grown another head, fury at his loss lacing his eyes. As she'd guessed, the racquet carriers were on the ground and the locker door was still swinging from the force with which it had been banged. She'd probably gone crazy because instead of exiting upon seeing the look in his eyes- a look she knew all too well- she remained glued to the spot. With two long strides Roger had closed off the metres separating them. One more inch and they would be touching. Heat like she'd never seen before flooded his obsidian eyes. One fluid motion and he'd trapped her with his hands on either side of her head., her back pinned to the door. 

 

Looking down at her he finally spoke, his voice no more than a whisper, sounding like melted chocolate. “What are you doing in the men's locker, Melanie?”

 

The better question was what was he doing, but her tongue seemed unable to form any words. Judging by how hot her face felt, it was a safe bet to assume that she was blushing like a teenager. Biting her lip, she shrugged aware that words were failing her. Avoiding his lips, which were too close to her own for comfort, she fixated her orbs on a spot over his shoulder. It was safer. Yet Roger would have none of that. He gently tilted her chin so they were looking into each other's eyes, but his fingers lingered there. 

 

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer, Melanie.”

 

There it was again. The way her name rolled off his lips made her quiver and she was fairly certain her knees would buckle if he kept it up. Gathering what was remaining of her wits she struggled to answer,”I... I wanted to see if you were OK.”

 

Staring into those pools of molten lava was doing funny things to her insides. 

 

Lowering his head so that his lips brushed against her ear, his husky voice dropped even lower than a whisper.“Would you care if I wasn't?”

 

Considering the way he'd treated her, she wanted to lie and say she didn't. It would be the sensible thing to do. But her body had a mind of its own because she found herself fervently nodding. His eyes narrowing, they shifted to her lips and remained there a few seconds making his intentions clear. She should have pulled back, but she couldn't move and honestly a part of her didn't want to. She was bewitched by the heat and emotion radiating from him.

 

His lips lowered, until they were mere inches from hers and Melanie closed her eyes. Roger pressed his lips against hers, moving slowly with gentle precision and she found herself responding, His lips traced the outline of hers until she opened for him. Then, he explored her mouth, finding her tongue, stroking it with his. She matched him move for move and soon their bodies were in complete synch. Melanie tangled her hands in his curly hair, massaging his scalp. 

 

Without warning, he pulled away, jumping back as if scorched, horror dancing in his now charcoal orbs. They were both panting and while Melanie would have described their kiss as electric, his gaze was transfixed on his right hand, but shadows didn't allow her to see why. The enormity of what she'd just done crashed on her like a brick wall. Not only that, but it was clear from the way her lips yearned for his that she had started to develop some sort of feelings for him.

 

“I'm sorry,” he uttered his posture defeated.”I don't know what came over me”

 

Evidently he regretted it and although it was probably the best kiss of her life, it was best that they didn't repeat it. She couldn't afford to fall in love with him when his life was it stake.

 

'Isn't it a little too late for that?' questioned her inner self, but she ignored it.

 

Nodding, she accepted his apology, but he barely registered her presence. What was wrong with him? Once again acting on impulse she approached him when she was sure her legs would hold her up and touched his shoulder. “Is everything OK?”

 

The man tensed at her touch, but never looked away from his hand. And now she could see why. A simple, gold wedding band reigned on his right ring finger. Realisation washed over her. It was clearly a symbol of his wife. But she'd passed away a year ago and he was still wearing it. 

 

He was not over her.

 

Their kiss most likely felt like a betrayal to Mirka's memory. 

 

Admittedly, she felt hurt surface, but also felt sorry for the lost, mourning man in front of her. Sure, her heart clenched since she knew that their kiss was only a spur of the moment thing he already regretted with all of his might. Of course he wouldn't actually find her desirable. He was only finding an outlet for his fury.

 

Roger was still transfixed on his wedding ring. He'd started to wear it after the accident and couldn't bring himself to take it off. Blisters were common, but he welcomed the pain. He deserved it.

 

The kiss was still fresh in his mind and he could still taste her plump lips that fitted perfectly on his own, even smell her unique scent. Raspberries, lemon and lavender. Ingredients that normally didn't work together, but on Melanie they were alluring. An unexpected lust for another sample of Melanie Hunter overcame him, but a piercing scream drove it away.

 

Mirka's piercing scream. Her last sound. The one which still haunted his nights. 

 

Everything he touched turned to ashes. That was why Melanie would do better to stay away. Like his kids and parents had understood months ago, he was not fit to be around caring, gentle hearts. He broke them.

 

“I'm fine,” steel adorned his voice. Turning from her, he hoped she understood his dismissal. After all, why would she linger with the man who insulted her and practically forced himself on her?

 

“With all due respect, Mr. Federer, we both know that's a lie.”

 

And there she was again. Knocking the breath out of him by calling him out on his bullshit. Slowly rotating to face her, this petite brunette who did not want to simply walk away no matter how much of a jerk he was.

 

“Do we?” he took a menacing step towards her.

 

Gulping, she stood her ground. “Yes.”

 

“Then how am I feeling, Melanie? Enlighten me.”He was again, so close to her lips, yet curiosity for her answer was bubbling. Besides, he could not submit her to the heartache that came with being close to him. 

 

Melanie's heart was pounding. His proximity was bringing back the electricity of their kiss, her heart somersaulting. But his eyes were hard, unflinching and a repeat would not be permitted, she was sure. 

 

“You regret our kiss deeply because,” she inhaled deeply preparing for his anger.”Because you feel like you're forsaking Mirka.” She'd wished to say your wife, your dead wife, but it felt cruel.

 

The air was knocked out of Roger's lungs. She was spot-on. What she didn't know was that he was to blame for Mirka's death. He deserved to be alone. Judging by the warm look she was giving, he was the subject of some affection on her part. 

 

He had to squash it before it developed into more. Twisting a strand of her silky, brown hair between his fingers he warned,”Don't presume to know me. You know nothing about me and trust me you don't want to.”

 

He let go and this time grabbed a towel, fully intending to go to the bathroom to take a long shower when her voice stopped him in his tracks.

 

“I know enough to understand that you're not the ogre you wish everyone to believe you are. And if you knew me, you'd be aware that I don't give up this easily on a person, Mr. Federer.”

 

A smile tugged at his lips catching the meaning of her words.” I believe I told you to call me Roger. Besides, Mr. Federer seems too formal after what happened today, don't you agree?.”

 

“I do, Roger.” 

 

Even though it would appear nothing to others, Melanie knew that for Roger this was as good as it got for now. Instead of dwelling on the kiss, which was unlikely to repeat in the near future, she contemplated the possibility of a friendship with Roger. 

 

It wasn't that far fetched any more.


	7. An Ounce of Guilt and Despair

It is common knowledge that feelings complicate everything. Friendships were ruined by love during the course of history. Even wars started because of love. But when requited, love can give you wings to touch the sky and reach the utmost fulfillment. At least that's what people say.

 

In Melanie's line of work falling for your employer was unacceptable. It was the worst mistake a bodyguard could make. It made you weak. You started to focus on them  
instead of the potential threats lurking around. It dulled your senses.

 

That's what she kept repeating herself over and over again ever since the locker room incident. More than a week had passed, Roger was civil bordering on friendly- at least his notion of friendly. Safe to say, they were both avoiding the elephant in the room.

 

The kiss.

 

Now that she was to spend days in his house in Basel, ensuring the security of the property, she was staring to second guess herself. More than once she found herself stealing glances when he was lost in practice, her eyes darting to the flex of his muscles when he hit a forehand or to the posture of his legs when he hit the most elegant backhand she'd ever seen. 

 

Admit it, you're screwed, ranted her inner self. You've fallen for the most unavailable man you've ever come across. 

 

As much as she hated to admit it, her inner was right. Roger was still clinging to the memory of Mirka, shutting everyone else down and choosing to live his life closed off from others.

 

It's like he's denying himself a shot at happiness. 

 

Why? Why would he do something like that? There was clearly more than met the eye and she vowed to get to the bottom of that. All while maintaining her professionalism and keeping an obsessed psychopath at bay.

 

I told you, you're screwed, mocked her inner again.

 

Shaking her head Melanie turned to watch the breath taking garden Roger Federer's house possessed. Rows of burgundy roses, jasmine, immaculate lilies and multicoloured tulips were encircled by pink orchids and magnolias. Small cobblestone alleys led to a foyer that reigned over the palatial space. Looking at the bench shaded by wrought iron roof, longing embedded in her heart. 

 

In spite of the tight security the house offered- 2 ex-marines protecting the gate and another 2 checking the live feed of the 12 cameras, something in her gut commanded not to drop her guard. After all, the stalker had invaded the property before.

 

Without knocking to make his presence known, Roger Federer barged into her room like he owned the place. Well, technically he did, but what if she'd been naked? Startled, she raised her eyebrow preparing herself for another awkward-polite moment.

 

“I'm going to practice a bit and I wondered if you wanted to come. The court is actually part of my property, but I haven't got round to installing all the security yet.”

 

Overjoyed that he finally seemed to care a bit about his well being she remained speechless for a short while. 

 

“It's fine if you don't. I understand your reluctance...” she cut him off.

 

“No! Of course I'd like to come.” Melanie corrected his misunderstanding.

 

The corners of his mouth tugged upwards, but it was gone too fast for her to really know if it had been the beginning of a smile. Studying her sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, she questioned whether she should put on something more flattering, but ruled against.

 

They were going to a tennis court in his backyard. And she was definitely not trying to impress him. So she followed him out.

 

The court was unlike what she'd imagined. Almost the size of those at tournaments, it even had a petite bleacher for someone to watch the play. Probably his family, she deduced.

 

“It's amazing,” she concluded in awe.

 

He shrugged, taking out a racquet and some balls and removing his hoodie. “Nothing money can't buy.”

 

While the man started warming up, she debated whether or not to sit down on the bleacher. Somehow, it felt like a violation of his privacy. So she remained upright, basking in the sunlight. It was a warm day for January with the sun sending its warmth to them, but she still regretted not bringing a jacket. Ignoring the slight shivering of her body, she focused on Roger who was practicing his serve. The force radiating from his moves was mesmerizing and even with the little she knew about tennis, she understood why it was such a powerful weapon. Watching him was tantalizing and she was reminded of their time in the locker room.

 

His arms trapping her. His lips pressing against hers. What if he hadn't pulled back? Would she have had the strength to do so?

 

“Melanie!” his hard voice brought her to the present to find Roger had stopped and was looking at her expectantly.

 

Had he asked her something? She was so lost he could have proposed and she would have no clue. “Yes?” she smiled apologetically.

 

Sighing he repeated.”I asked if you wanted to hit some balls with me.”

 

Was he kidding? Of course she wanted to. It had been her dream since she'd seen him play the first time. That's precisely why she'd taken those tennis lessons. Which she'd sucked at. Royally.

 

“Well? Do you?” he grew impatient with her lack of response.

 

Weighing the regret of not taking this opportunity against the possibility of embarrassing herself, she decided that a life with regrets was not a life lived to the fullest. And she agreed.

 

“Grab a racquet from my bag.”

 

Still too dumbstruck to form coherent sentences, she nodded and with shaky hand unwrapped one of the other racquets. It was surprisingly light and the grip did wonders on her sweaty hands. Determination to be a decent sparring partner combined with the giddiness inside her chest made for a confident walk to the other side of the net.

 

“Let's try some returns of serve first.” he bounced the ball twice.”I'll go slow to your forehand first. If you can handle it, I'll up the speed.”

 

Grateful that he wasn't going all out on her, she settled down her beating heart and focused on the ball. As he'd promised it came to her right, slower than any serve she'd seen him hit. Steadying her breathing, she hit the ball back with all she had. 

 

It landed deep in the court. So she did remember some inkling of tennis. And the forehand was what she was best at. Roger's eyes widened. He was probably expecting someone who could barely hit the ball and the quality of the return surprised him.

 

“The next ones will come faster and faster, but all to your forehand.”

 

Melanie continued to hit the ball back as well as possible. Most landed inside the baseline, but the were some embarrassing ones like when she missed the ball completely, lost balance and almost fell on her ass. The cold was no longer bothering her, adrenaline running through her veins, giving her the confidence needed to send the ball back to Roger.

 

“Now you serve to me,” and he hit the balls to her.

 

Serve? That was what she'd been the worst. Her confidence plummeted. She could barely hit the ball in the air, let alone send it over the net. No, she could not do that. Her coach had tried hours to teach the move to her, but her stupid body refused to comply. Maybe you'll do it now, her inner encouraged. A stupid part of her desired not to disappoint him and that's what was keeping her from walking away.

 

“Go to my backhand as fast as you can.”

 

Right. She could do this. Inhaling deeply, she envisioned the proper way of doing it. Opening her eyes, she tossed the ball and lifted her racquet.

 

Obviously, she didn't even hit the ball and it fell in front of her. Embarrassment flooded her body and she felt her cheeks flush. Yet, Roger hadn't laughed. Instead, he nodded at her and assumed his receiving position.

 

Of course, even tennis players missed occasionally. That's why they got second serves, she reassured herself. So, once again, she threw the ball in the air. This time, the racquet did connect with the ball. Just not the right part of the racquet: the frame. The ball rotated in the air, only to pitifully bounce on her head and then land with a thud on the cement.

 

“I can't serve, I'm sorry.” she mumbled, lowering her head in shame. Melanie made her way to leave the court, expecting the biting, arrogant words and keeping her head down. She was near the net when she collided with something firm, making her lose her footing. Strong hands stopped her free fall, righting her and remained there.

 

“Where are you going?” 

 

Melanie looked at the hands laying on her shoulders and liked the warmth they provided. Unable to stop herself, she pictured the kiss in the locker room and her lips yearned for a repeat. But even the lust- that's what she tried to convince herself it was- could not smother the humiliation she felt.

 

“I can't serve, OK? I never could. So, I'll just leave you to train.”she ducked her eyes from his pools of cinnamon and headed for the bleacher. 

 

“I thought Melanie Hunter didn't give up that easily.”

 

His taunting words stung. But what did he want? If she kept that up she might end up with a concussion from all of the balls landing on her head. That's if she managed to put her racquet to them. Which considering her record was doubtful.

 

“I can teach you,” he offered, his voice reflecting his honesty.

 

The prospect of receiving tennis lessons from Roger Federer made her feel like a giggling teenager. “Really?” excited she jumped to look at him.”You should know that others have tried and failed miserably as you've witnessed before.”

 

“Then you're lucky I'm not 'others',” he arrogantly smirked. He placed his racquet on the ground and walked with her, positioning himself behind her. He was so close she could feel his warm breath on her neck. It was distracting and it made the rhythm of her heart speed up.

 

She bit her lip.”You might want to take another step back so the ball doesn't hit you in the head,”she pondered for a moment.”Two steps back if we consider the racquet and that I'm swinging it.”

 

Roger shrugged off her concerns and remained motionless, eying her every move like a hawk. A final warning died on her lips as he closed off the space between them. 

 

“You need to keep your right shoulder turned more in the direction of the box.” He righted her position with his hands. “Also, relax your grip on the racquet. You're killing it, not holding it.” Placing his hands around her torso he caught her right hand and loosened her fingertips. “And always toss the ball in front of you. Understood?” he spoke gravelly directly in her ear.

 

Her fingers turned to jelly with him this close to her and her insides were mush. “So screwed,” declared once again her inner.

 

“Try again,” he ordered and stepped away.

 

You can do this. Do not fail. Do not disappoint him. Don't, she chanted in her head. Remember: shoulder to the right, softer grip and the ball ahead. Careful to all of those instructions she attempted again. She did make contact with the ball, but it stopped pitifully in the net. So she tried again. This time the ball traversed the net and landed in the service box. As did the next one. And the next one.

 

Beaming with pride she turned to watch the silent tennis player. “Well, you did what no one else could, champ. Thank you.”

 

“You're welcome.” Sincerity emanated from every pore of his body and, for the first time, the awkwardness and aloofness seemed to have dissipated.”So, now that you can serve decently, what would you feel about a few actual games?”

 

“Bring it on,” she challenged. She was riding the high of having learned how to serve and felt like she could move mountains. Even the Everest that was Roger Federer.

 

Little did her optimism serve when by the end of a set she'd merely won one game. A game which she highly suspected had been a pity game awarded by Roger. 

 

Her dilemma of whether to sit on the bench or not was solved by Roger who patted the place next to him. Now, that the adrenaline was wearing off and she was resting again, she could feel the bite of the cold air against her damp skin. It made her shiver. Melanie wanted to suggest leaving, but the relaxed state Roger was in as he took in his surroundings made her halt. She'd never seen him like this. Even inside his house he seemed on edge, like something was ebbing at him. So she kept quiet and tried to muffle her shivers and bring heat to her body by wrapping her arms like a cocoon around herself.

 

“Here,” he unexpectedly placed his hoodie in her hands.

 

Was he really giving her his hoodie? Studying him, she noticed he was only wearing a thin t-shirt. He might catch a cold and surely his own health was more important than hers. He had the Dubai championship in less than a week.

 

“No, you keep it,” she pushed it back to him.”You have a tournament soon and you need to stay healthy. Besides, it's not that cold anyway.”

 

He rolled his eyes at her stubbornness. “Your teeth are clattering and your shivering is shaking the bench. I'd say you're pretty cold. I've trained in worse conditions and I've never caught a cold before. So take it,” he pushed the hoodie in her lap.

 

Who was this chivalrous man and what had he done with her annoying, obnoxious employer? Too cold to argue anymore she complied, a content sigh leaving her throat. Now, she finally admired the environment, and found that it was astonishing. On one side you had mountains and on the other you had the town and its little, posh houses. 

 

“Your kids must really love it here,” the words escaped before she could consider them. Her usual problem. Especially around Roger Federer. 

 

“They don't come around here this often,” he tensed, his voice void of emotions.

 

Now that she thought of it, they'd been here two days and there had been no signs of his parents or children. It was a surprise because she remembered that they were always by his side in the past. A tight knitted family, she'd labeled them.

 

“They used to like it, though,” his voice lowered and she could sense some sort of hurt resurfacing. His eyes roamed the tennis court and drifted to the garden she'd admired earlier. “I would try to teach Charlene and Myla to play tennis on my off days, but we would inevitably end up messing around. And Mirka,” his voice broke,” she would get tired of our antics and spend time in the foyer. She loved that garden. It was her pride and joy.” 

 

Emotion laced his voice as he avoided her gaze, but in a split second she caught his eyes and she could swear moisture was brimming in them. He'd opened up a bit to her and she could see it had taken everything out of him. He missed his family more than anything, that much she knew. Reaching out, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

 

“Why don't you call your parents to have them bring your kids tomorrow?”

 

She'd overstepped her bounds, she knew that much. But she could not bring herself to regret it because she knew how good that would be for him. The healing powers of spending time with his family were unequaled. No, she would not back down on this subject. Bracing for a biting and maybe cruel retort, Roger baffled her when he looked straight at her. 

 

Pain.

 

Desperation. 

 

Longing.

 

His eyes screamed that and much more. It was like a knife to her heart. In that moment, with that broken man offering up a small part of his suffering to her, she knew without a doubt that she had indeed fallen for him.

 

“I can't.” 

 

Those two soft words were not what she'd expected. Why couldn't he? Again she felt like she was missing something.

 

“Why not?” she asked as quietly as him.

 

He shook his head and clenched his eyes shut. “I just can't. It's for the best anyway.”

 

Now she was even more confused. For whose best? Because she could bet that any child would prefer their fathers in their lives. Especially a kind, gentle and caring father like she suspected Roger to be. 

 

“You should. They're young. They love you unconditionally and they'll accept you with flaws, scars and all that.” her eyes darkened.”But that won't last forever. Someday you won't be their hero anymore. Instead you'll be the person who disappointed them the most. I would know,” she bitterly added.

 

“I've already disappointed enough.”

 

“Children forgive almost anything. I forgave my father for never spending time with me, for never being by my side except for the moments when he said I wasn't good enough and that I didn't live up to his perfect standards. Until one day when I was 15 and I couldn't do it anymore.” Tears shined in her eyes as well. “I couldn't sit around, waiting for a father who never loved me.” Remembering those times in her life was painful but for Roger to not make the same mistakes as her father she would relieve everything over and over again.

 

“You don't understand. What I've done is unforgivable. I can't forgive myself so how could they?” 

 

There it was. That was the root of the problem. He'd done something which made him feel unworthy and undeserving of his peers' love. But what was it? Before long, she'd asked that question aloud. Judging by severe look he was giving, the hardening of his feature or by the way his eyes glazed over, she doubted her resolution to find the answer. 

 

“I killed their mother.”


	8. Chapter 8

 

>                          
> 
> The air was knocked out of Melanie's lungs as the words Roger had uttered hit her like a tsunami. He'd killed Mirka? What was he talking about?
> 
>  
> 
> “Wh-what...” she stumbled on her tongue.”I thought I was an accident.”
> 
>  
> 
> It had to have been, right? Otherwise he'd be in jail, right?
> 
>  
> 
> Yet nothing seemed right after Roger's bomb dropped.
> 
>  
> 
> The woman's head was spinning and she thanked divine forces that she was standing or her legs wouldn't have been able to support her weight.
> 
>  
> 
> Roger seemed lost in the dark depths of his mind, his eyes glazed and unseeing. His lips formed a grimace as if he was relieving something unpleasant. And he was, the night of the crash playing in vivid details before his eyes.
> 
>  
> 
> “Roger?”
> 
>  
> 
> Melanie's soft voice pulled him out of his glum memories and back to the tennis court. Her hand, gently touching his shoulder, was attempting to provide comfort, but the numb state he'd secluded himself to denied it.
> 
>  
> 
> Why was she even here? Hadn't she seen enough of the monster Roger Federer was? Didn't she realize his kids would only suffer more after interacting with him?
> 
>  
> 
> No, her heart was pure. Although infuriating, stubborn, sarcastic and sometimes arrogant, Melanie Hunter was among the genuinely good people on this Earth. And he couldn't soil her with his presence anymore. He was unworthy of her protection. He'd tell her the truth and she'd understand and leave on her own. He knew it.
> 
>  
> 
> Gathering his wits, he mustered up the courage to do something he'd never done after the accident. Tell someone about that night.
> 
>  
> 
> “You heard right the first time, Melanie. I killed Mirka.”
> 
>  
> 
> Her gasp was barely audible and her hand dropped from his shoulder. As expected. Still, she hadn't budged an inch and curiosity swam in those brown eyes. Steeling himself he continued:
> 
>  
> 
> “It was the night after the ATP World Tour Finals and there was a party. Kind of like the Player's Party we went to in Melbourne. I had won and I was so, so happy. Exalted actually,” a bitter smile crossed his face.”While knocking down glasses of wine and champagne, never once did it cross my mind that I'd given the driver the day off. Never once.”
> 
>  
> 
> Melanie could see where this was heading. A tale she often met while training to be law enforcement. Still, she kept quiet waiting for Roger to continue.
> 
>  
> 
> “One second. I took my eyes off the road for one second,” he turned his head and closed his eyes, hiding the pain hidden there.”A car crossed our path. A man who'd fallen asleep at the wheel. Mirka screamed. I tried to avoid it, I swear I did,” he trailed off, his voice breaking.”I-I lost control and we hit a tree.”
> 
>  
> 
> Melanie's heart clenched at the pain eating alive this man. He considered himself guilty for the accident. He'd turned completely away from her, but under the faint light, she could see his hurt expression.
> 
>  
> 
> There it was, he'd said it. His demons were out in the open. Now, he only waited for her deserved insults and departure. So, imagine Roger Federer's surprise when hesitant fingers cupped his cheek, attempting to make him look at her. He couldn't.
> 
>  
> 
> “Roger, please, don't shut me out. Not after all you've told me,” her voice reflected his hurt. What was she doing? Why wasn't she leaving? As if reading his mind, her next words answered his unspoken questions.
> 
>  
> 
> “I don't think you're guilty of Mirka's death. I don't and I can bet that neither do your kids. They love you.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Stop! Don't,” he begged. He was guilty. He knew it and fighting over it wouldn't change his mind.
> 
>  
> 
> “Roger, look at me. I want you to look me in the eye and listen to what I'm telling you.”
> 
>  
> 
> Maybe it was the urgency or the pleading tone of her voice, but he obeyed.
> 
>  
> 
> “You did not kill Mirka. Sure, you shouldn't drive after drinking, yet the person responsible is the guy who fell asleep while driving. There was nothing you or anyone else could've done.”
> 
>  
> 
> “No, you're wrong,” he weakly protested.”The driver we hired... he wouldn't take his eyes off the road. And if he were there, Mirka would be in the back seat. And she would be alive and it would be me.”
> 
>  
> 
> “You would be what?” she voiced her confusion.
> 
>  
> 
> “Dead. It should have been me, not her.”
> 
>  
> 
> Melanie's eyes widened and she flinched. His tone was so cold and emotionally detached, his eyes enforcing his words. Survivor's guilt. She was so familiar with the concept it hurt. Racking her brain for anything to say to sway his belief, she found no appropriate words. Nobody teaches you what to say in such moments.
> 
>  
> 
> Still gazing in his haunted black orbs, she prayed that she wouldn't make this worse. Not after the trust he was placing in her.
> 
>  
> 
> “No, it shouldn't have.” he was eying her with such rawness, baring his soul to her through his eyes. She drew strength from the lack of immediate denial and continued. “Roger, I'm only going to say this once, so I need you to listen to me. I know what it feels like to blame yourself for the death of a loved one. I know that it tears you open, it kills you that you lived and others didn't. But that's not your fault. And neither is the death of Mirka.”
> 
>  
> 
> Still, there was no answer. Just his look- troubled, but somehow she felt he was listening intently.”The only thing you are responsible for is the pain you're bringing on your family by rejecting them. And trust me, it's one of the worst pains a child can experience, to yearn for a parent's love. So, please, accept that no one, but yourself is blaming you.”
> 
>  
> 
> Roger's mask of composure fell. Tears were threatening to fall and his fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were turning white. “I can't get her scream out of my head.” one droplet of salty water rolled down his cheek. “I can't.” he shook his head as if to emphasize that.
> 
>  
> 
> Melanie felt her heart break for the man in front of her. Tears of her own were forming and even though she'd sworn that she would never cry in front of others, a sob escaped her lips.
> 
>  
> 
> At the pain he'd experienced. At the pain that was still raging inside him.
> 
>  
> 
> Swallowing past the big lump in her throat and begging her tongue to obey her before she completely broke down, she spoke. “You will, once you let your family back in. I promise you.”
> 
>  
> 
> Another one of his tears fell, and it tested the remains of her self-control. He quickly wiped it away. “Are you sure?” hope swam in his orbs. Truthfully, she wasn't. Like she'd said, she knew of his pain and had experienced it. But she'd never really recovered from her assignment. She'd just got better at hiding pain under layer upon layer of false happiness. And she didn't wish her fate of anybody else, especially Roger. So she was repeating the words the F.B.I shrink had told her on numerous occasions.
> 
>  
> 
> Before she'd stopped attending the sessions. Before she'd given up.
> 
>  
> 
> “I am.” she mustered up all of her will power to stop her voice from wavering. And it didn't. The same couldn't be said about her body who was shaking despite the sweatshirt he'd provided.
> 
>  
> 
> Then, the unexpected happened.
> 
>  
> 
> Strong arms wrapped around her. Suffice it to say, Melanie lost it. Burying her head in his chest she let it all out. And she cried. For the children she'd failed to protect. For all of the innocents she'd disappointed and whose faces still haunted her dreams. But mostly, she cried for the man holding her, for the suffering he'd been through.
> 
>  
> 
> How she wished her tears could wipe away the past. Wash over their misery and provide a clean slate.
> 
>  
> 
> “Shhh,” Roger whispered as he ran soothing circles down her back. “Don't cry for me, Melanie. I'm not worth it.”
> 
>  
> 
> “But you are,” his shirt muffled her words, yet he still understood every single one of them.”You are.”
> 
>  
> 
> Somehow, he believed them. He believed everything she'd said. For the first time in more than a year, guilt wasn't weighing him down and he felt like he could breathe. All because of his spunky bodyguard who never took no for an answer and who never gave up. Because she'd nudged him to talk, let his feelings out in the open.
> 
>  
> 
> The fact that she would cry for him only emphasized her empathy and her ability to care for others. It showcased her beautiful heart.
> 
>  
> 
> And to think he was such a jerk in the beginning, even going as far as hurting Melanie. An apology was in order. For the moment, though, he continued to comfort her, alleviate her pain.
> 
>  
> 
> The words she'd said weren't lost on him and neither was their meaning, She harbored a secret, a dark part of her past. It had been like watching his reflection in the mirror.
> 
>  
> 
> Anger. Guilt. Self-loathing- the worst of all.
> 
>  
> 
> Curiosity emerged, naturally, but he ruled against touching the topic now. Melanie would bring it up if she felt comfortable and prepared.
> 
>  
> 
> A few minutes later, she pulled herself back together and broke their embrace. Self-consciously, she raised her hands to her cheeks where tears stains mixed with black mascara. Without thinking, he stopped her and gently wiped them away, his fingers lingering. Obsidian eyes got lost in brown ones and they darted to look at her plump mouth, his fingers following their example and tracing the outline of her lips.
> 
>  
> 
> Roger longed to kiss her, but somehow, it felt wrong. Tonight hadn't been about what they might have started to feel for each other, but about helping them heal so they could move on. So, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead hoping it conveyed every emotion he was feeling and more.
> 
>  
> 
> Melanie closed her eyes and got lost in the moment. She could feel gratitude and even trust emanating from him. It made her insides melt. Although different from the passionate kiss they shared in the lockers, for right now it was perfect.
> 
>  
> 
> “Thank you,” his sincerity obvious as he grabbed her hand and led them to his house, his fingers never abandoning hers until they reached her room. Their goodbyes were clumsy as neither wanted to part with the other just yet, both basking in the comfort of another human presence who understood, but it was late and Roger needed his rest.
> 
>  
> 
> Alone, in her room, Melanie felt once again someone watching her. Rushing to the door, she checked the garden, squinting to see past the gate, but nothing seemed out of place. Goosebumps covered her skin. Could Roger's stalker have found a way past the guards? Could he, indeed, be watching her right now? No, she reassured herself, the security around this house was impenetrable. Heck, he'd have to be a freaking military officer to be able to get past the intricate web of security, she'd weaved around the mansion.
> 
>  
> 
> Still, that didn't stop her from making sure her windows were locked and drawing the blinds. Now, convinced she was indeed alone and not some psycho's entertainment of the night, she went through her conversation with Roger and an idea bloomed. One that she wasn't sure he'd appreciate, but it was impossible to get it out of her mind now. Picking up the house phone, she scrolled through the contacts until she found what she was looking for. A brief flicker of hesitation followed, but she squashed it by pressing 'dial' before that cultured, disapproving voice resembling Roger's could talk her out of it.
> 
>  
> 
> “Hello.”
> 
>  
> 
> There was no turning back now.
> 
>  
> 
> “Mrs Federer?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yes, who is this?”
> 
>  
> 
> Swallowing any doubts she continued. “Hello, this is Melanie Hunted, your son's bodyguard and I wanted to ask you something.”
> 
>  
> 
> As expected, the woman was delighted at her proposition and they hung up with Lynette acting as if she'd found her newest best friend. She only hoped Roger wouldn't take this the wrong way and that it wouldn't ruin their relationship. Whatever said relationship was since labeling it seemed impossible for the woman. Not that she bothered too much with labels. Acquaintances, friends, maybe more, who knew? Honestly, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that it kept evolving as naturally as it had been so far. After all, she'd never seen someone she could relate to so much. There was one major difference though: he was innocent while she was not.
> 
>  
> 
> Well, tomorrow would tell if she'd committed a grave mistake, not only overstepped her boundaries.  
> 
>  
> 
> _"Please don't hate me for this, Roger. You need it."_ she mumbled as a prayer before she let her head rest on the pillow.
> 
>  
> 
>  


	9. Chapter 9

Noise. There was a lot of noise. Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, Melanie concentrated on the noise, her senses on high alert. Jumping up, she focused on the source, her hand subconsciously reaching for her drawer, where her gun was safely tucked.

 

Wait. Were those children? 

 

Yeah, the unmistakable yelping and squealing could only belong to a child. And with that realisation, last night's events washed over her. She'd called Lynette Federer and apparently, the woman was a morning person. Unlike Melanie. Relaxing, she collapsed on the bed. She really had become paranoid. Thank God she hadn't burst into the room guns blazing and scarred Roger's family for life.

 

Just as she was enjoying the warm cocoon of her blankets an angry rapping on her door disrupted her morning peace. Before she could give permission for whoever it was to enter, a seething Roger burst into the room.

 

“What the hell did you do?”

 

Uh-oh! Swearing from Roger meant he was literally moments away from exploding. 

 

“Good morning, Roger,” she smiled innocently.”I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about.”

 

“Don't you dare pretend you have nothing to do with my family waiting for me in the living room.” 

 

“Oh, I wasn't expecting them this early,” she tried to laugh it off.

 

“Melanie, why? What were you thinking when you called my mother? Just because I told you some private things, you thought you had the right to call my mother?”

 

Those words stung, but she admitted the truth behind them. She really had overstepped her bounds. Weighing down appropriate responses, she came up empty. An apology seemed too meek and besides she didn't really feel that apologetic if she were to be honest.

 

Mistaking her silence for approval, he sat down on her bed pushing professional boundaries even further away. “What am I even supposed to tell my girls when I can barely look them in the eye?” 

 

And that was the underlying problem. Sitting up, she grabbed hold of his hand prompting him to look at her. “You just go there and be the father they know and long for. I can guarantee you that they aren't expecting more. They just want you to be there and not abandon them.”

 

“I'm not sure I know how to do that any more.” 

 

Now all traces of anger had faded away, leaving behind pure sadness. Melanie's heart was breaking for the tennis player. 

 

“You do. The Roger I've come to know is kind, sweet and generous. He's the kind of father young girls idolize when they're growing up.”

 

A smile crossed his lips confusing Melanie. What was he finding so amusing? The question must have been obvious on her face because he immediately offered a response.

 

“Never thought I'd hear such compliments coming from you. I'd almost resigned myself to insults and sarcastic remarks.”

 

Now that he mentioned it and taking into consideration their first meetings, she could see the humour in the situation. “Well, don't get too cocky, Mr. Federer or I can go back to veiled insults and driving you crazy.”

 

The struggle to keep their laughs in proved to be effortless. Once they were done, a more serious tone returned to the discussion. “Will you come downstairs with me?”

 

She bit her lip. Surely, she would feel awkward, intruding on such a private family reunion, but he was asking for her support and it was getting increasingly difficult to say 'no' to this man's requests.

 

Nodding, she added.” Just let me put on some decent clothes.”

 

And that was honestly the first time she considered her state on undress- an oversized green T-shirt that barely reached her mid-thigh. Heat flooded her cheeks as his eyes roamed down her body. Tearing his eyes away from her and clearing his throat, he muttered,”Sure, we'll be in the living room.”With that he left the room.

 

Shaking off the effects his gaze had on her, she put on the first pair of jeans she could find and a crimson blouse with lace covering the neck line. It was casual, but also the best look she could go for this early in the morning when her straight, long hair seemed lifeless and her no make-up rule applied.

 

The sounds got louder and louder as she neared the living room and to her utmost surprise, she was actually nervous. Add that to the stress that the last children she'd grown to know had suffered tragic fates and she was a ball of anxiety. Tugging on the hem of her blouse, she willed herself to hide it all. Roger needed her there. Plastering a smile, she moved away from her hiding spot and into the spotlight. The sight before her knocked the air out of her lungs.

 

In the middle of the room, on the carpet was Roger with his twin girls. Apparently, the bridges had been mended in the short time it took for her to change, if you considered how they were laughing. Roger moved to tickle one of them, but the girl was quick, darting to her feet and running away.

 

“Get Myla, daddy. Then it's my turn,” nudged the other twin.

 

The chase continued, Roger clearly slowing down to offer the girl the pleasure of beating her dad. Melanie's fake laugh was immediately replaced by the most honest one she'd given in months. Suddenly, something poked her leg. Upon looking down, she saw Myla- she thought- curiously glancing at her.

 

“Who are you?” she asked as soon as their eyes met.

 

Melanie's gaze darted to Roger's who had stopped in his tracks and seemed just as bewildered as she was. What was she supposed to say? I'm Roger's bodyguard and I'm here to make sure his insane stalker doesn't kill him? Yeah, that would go remarkably well with a six year old girl.

 

“I...I'm your father's friend, Melanie.” she finally said, cringing at how lame her answer was.

 

Apparently, both of the girls thought so too because Myla narrowed her eyes and Charlene rushed over.

 

“Why are you here? Only Mummy was allowed here before.”

 

“Are you here to take Mummy's place?” continued the other girl.

 

Melanie was at a loss and judging by his expression, so was Roger. She used to be pretty good with children, but her confidence had been smothered in the last months. Clearly, baffled-Roger would be no help so she would have to handle this on her own. Crouching down to be eye-level with both girls, she answered.

 

“I work for your father. I make sure bad people stay away from him. I could never replace your mother, nobody could or ever will.”

 

The girls mulled over her answer. “So you protect Daddy?” 

 

Barely had Melanie nodded that the girls jumped up to hug her. “Thank you! Grandma told us that Daddy had to stay away because a bad person wanted to hurt him. Now you're here and we have Daddy back.”

 

Tears prickled the woman's eyes and a quick sweep of the room revealed that neither Roger nor Lynette -who was sitting with the other pair of twins- had dry eyes. Words and coherence were failing her and Melanie satisfied herself with pouring everything she had in hugging them back. 

 

Only once she was convinced that no traitorous tears would escape did she open her eyes to look past the small figures huddled in her arms at the tennis player. A wide-eyed Roger nodded his head in approval and gratitude- dare she say?

 

True to their energetic tempers, the girls pulled away, oblivious to the emotions suffocating the grown-ups and demanded that their 'daddy' resume playing with them. 

 

Being a witness to such a precious moment made Melanie recall all those times in her childhood when she wished there was someone to play with her like Roger did. Her grandfather had been her father-figure, but he'd got sick. Watching him wither and being unable to do anything to ease his suffering was one of the earliest torments she'd experienced. It had been unbearable, but she was always the strong one, the one who never hurt. Ever since she was young, she'd projected that image and up to this day, she was not capable of expressing her feelings.

 

“Thank you.” A friendly voice interrupted her painful memories. Next to her was Lynette, holding a small, chubby baby. “I know this is because of you. I'll be forever grateful for bringing my family back together.”

 

Bringing a family back together? A lump formed in her throat just at the thought. “No, it was your son who did that. I just pestered him until he caved.”

 

“Melanie, I know my son and nobody can make him do something he doesn't want to. Nor does he keep people he doesn't like around him, going as far as taking their advice on family matters.”

 

The conviction behind the older woman's words made Melanie falter in her previously formed opinions. Could she really have such influence over Roger? No, that was impossible, she concluded.

 

“He would have come around eventually. You just needed to talk to him.”

 

Lynette shook her head.”You don't understand. Ever since the accident he hasn't opened up to anyone. Until you. Neither one of you might want to acknowledge it, but I can see that you care deeply for each other.”

 

“I can assure you, Mrs. Federer that my relationship with your son is purely professional.” 

 

The kiss in the locker room flashed before her eyes. “Liar,” reprimanded her inner self.

 

A knowing, coy smile was what she received. “Call me, Lynette. Besides, in the future such formality won't probably be needed.”

 

The ramifications of what was being implied rang in Melanie's head, but she refused to listen to them. Nothing could happen between her and Roger even if they both yearned for it. At least not until he knew about her past and the stalker was caught.

 

Pushing away her nagging thoughts, she enjoyed the rest of the afternoon, basking in the love surrounding her. The picture of Roger cradling Leo and Lenny to his chest and cooing a soft lullaby in their ear was something forever embedded in her heart. Sitting next to Roger in the courtyard, enjoying the warmth of the sun and having a picnic with the twins was one of those moments in which you forgot every problem real life had thrown at you. 

 

After lunch, the girls declared they wanted to play tennis with their father. Roger, the ever-compliant dad, agreed immediately. Imagine Melanie's surprise when Charlene pulled her hand and dragged her with them. Lynette said that she was tired and that she would take a nap after putting the babies to sleep. Of course, Charlene and Myla were complete disasters at tennis, but their claims that 'their father knew nothing and that they would teach him' made Melanie grin.

 

She felt like nothing could go wrong. That's how she should have known everything would go wrong. After all, the only other time blissful happiness had graced her with its presence had been sealed by blood and death.

 

What made her think this would be any different?

 

A shrill scream pierced the silence.

 

“Mom,” whispered Roger before turning to look at her confirming Melanie's suspicions. It had indeed been Lynette. By habit, Melanie reached at her back, for her gun only to find the spot mockingly empty. Of course, the only time when she left her gun behind in months would be when she would direly need it.

 

A battle was waging inside her head. Her training was screaming that she get Roger and the girls to safety while her heart was aching to check on Lynette. In the end, years of working for the F.B.I and her innate sense of duty seemed to triumph. Opening her mouth, she was met with the man's pleading gaze. He wouldn't be able to take losing him mum and to be truthful, she wasn't that confident that she could either. 

 

Still, the girls complicated everything. They were additional people to protect and she was only one. Sending a prayer that this was a false alarm even though her instincts yelled that it was the real deal, she gestured for Roger to come near.

 

“I'm about to do something extremely unprofessional and take you with me to check out the source of that. Now, as my employer you are within your rights to stop me. Shall I proceed?” 

 

By using the most pompous words her alert brain could conjure she aimed to ensure that the girls remained as clueless as possible. Roger nodded and grabbed one hand from each girl, gripping them as tightly as he could.

 

“Stay behind me at all times,” she stared him directly in the eyes.”If something happens, you run. You take the girls and run.” The implications were evident:'you don't wait for me'.  
Brown orbs hardened and his jaw tightened, but he nodded.

 

The walk back to the house seemed like an eternity, their footsteps echoing on the gravel pavement, the lack of trees making Melanie feel like they were sitting ducks. Quickening her pace while remaining vigil, Melanie stopped at the front entrance. It was eerily quiet, but nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.

 

In spite of that, she was tightly wound, missing the comfort of her Glock. Where were the 4 marines? Hadn't they heard the commotion? Out of the blue, two of them appeared, guns blazing. The girls let out a shriek, but Roger soothed them.

 

“What's the situation?” demanded Melanie in her all-business tone.

 

The oldest of the marines, a former sniper updated her that they'd been stationed at the front and back gates. Minutes ago, they had been informed from the guards inside the house of a breach of security. Contact had been cut off immediately afterwards.

 

Melanie didn't like this one bit. “Does either of you have a spare? I have my piece in my room.” Disapproval shone brightly in the sniper's eyes, but he handed her his ankle gun. Albeit small, it offered unmeasurable relief to the woman.

 

“Tom,” she gestured to the sniper.”You stay here and make sure nothing happens to them.” Nodding to the other marine whose name, if she wasn't mistaken, was Martin, she carried on.”You are coming with me to see what's going on.”

 

Hearing Roger's sharp intake of air, Melanie avoided his obsidian orbs because she knew what she would find in them: anguish. She couldn't afford any distractions. Not now. One last glance at the sniper and they entered the house.

 

Nothing seemed out of place except for the mind-numbing silence. Leading the way, Melanie headed for the security centre. The first sign that something was amiss was the slight crack of the door. Carefully, Melanie nudged it open. The sight before her froze her blood. One of the guards was laying in a pool of his own blood, a deep puncture wound in his chest. Undoubtedly, he was dead. The security camera's feed was cut off and a lot of ground had to be covered so she ordered Martin to take the ground floor while she took care of the upper levels.

 

Door after door, her hopes of finding Lynette were crashing. Still, she could feel eyes on her again, goosebumps marring her skin. However, when she turned to look behind her, darkness was her only companion. Everything changed when in one of the guest rooms, she came across the other guard. His hand was clenched around a gaping slash across his neck, life-giving liquid seeping through his fingertips.

 

“Taylor,” she recognized him, dropping to her knees and covering his hand with her own. Recognition shone in his eyes and he opened his mouth to say something, but only blood escaped his lips. “Shh, it's OK. Don't try to speak. An ambulance is coming, You'll be fine.”

 

Somehow, they both knew that wasn't going to happen. He was slipping away too quickly. 

 

“He's...” he coughed, the words too slurred and weak to reach Melanie who lowered her ear to his mouth in an attempt to understand. Suddenly, Taylor's eyes widened, focusing on a spot by the door. His weak hand made a feeble try to grasp her, his last strength pouring into his grip. It was unnecessary because Melanie knew what he was trying to communicate. 

 

A warning.

 

Ever since a shadow had appeared besides hers and no words had been spoken Melanie knew the stalker was in the room. And she was caught red-handed again. She'd dropped the gun to the floor so she could stem Taylor's bleeding.

 

Futilely lunging for the Glock, she was prepared for the strong hit across the temple. Despite trying to see the man, all her eyes could discern was a tall silhouette, towering over her as she fell next to Taylor, her clothes and hair soaking with his blood.

 

Melanie could feel her grip on conscience slip. As death neared her she could only hope that Tom had had the common sense to take Roger and the girls away and that Martin had succeeded in finding Lynette safe and sound.

 

The man took a menacing step towards her, his boots nearly touching her pounding ribcage. He was closer than before, but her vision was blurrier. She couldn't make out any distinctive features, but her eyes closed in on the knife tucked in his right hand. So this was how it ended for her. Fitting in a twisted way. Two more strides and his boots touched her cheek. Her eyelids felt like they were made of lead, each blink taking its toll on her. It was a losing fight, the end looming closer and closer.

 

Her entire world went dark.


	10. Chapter 10

 

_**Months Ago** _

 

Melanie Hunter surveyed her surroundings. The old, Victorian building loomed over, enveloping her in its gloomy shadow. A few weeks ago, she'd been assigned to a huge case. The kind of case that either makes or breaks someone's career. As expected, her excitement had been incommensurable.

 

The case of the decade, as it was being referred to in the media, concerned a serial killer that focused on young, naive high-school girls. According to the information provided to her, the teenagers were lured from the safety of the school, to a nearby forest where they were brutally beaten and raped. An entire graveyard had been discovered, with more than 20 girls aged between 15 and 18 years old. Suffice it to say, flipping through the files and the crime scene photographs had made her sick to her stomach.

 

Now, a month into her investigation, she had managed to put together a profile of the murderer, but was no where near having a suspect. He was a male, in his mid-twenties, early-thirties, with a steady job and who had most likely experienced childhood trauma or abuse. In addition to those traits, her gut was screaming that it was a member of the high school faculty or staff.

 

Still, in the time spent at Forest Lake High School, two more girls had found their untimely death.

 

“Ms. Hunter,” a surly voice she'd grown to know greeted her. It was Christian Harris, the grouchy Biology teacher. If she could pick anyone here who might be a serial killer, it would be him. He was so withdrawn, reserved and took such pleasure in describing the human insides that Melanie could almost picture him gutting a student.

 

However, no proof existed. Biting her tongue in an attempt to maintain her polite persona, she responded.”Mr. Harris, a pleasure as always. Why aren't you in class?”

 

 

At her accusing tone he merely smiled smugly and shrugged. “My car broke down.”

 

Guilty, yelled her every instinct, but she couldn't prove it. “Well, you better get that checked out before it can cause further problems. We wouldn't want such a loved teacher to miss his classes.”

 

Tensing at her sarcastic quip, he straightened his posture,” See you around, Ms. Hunter.”

 

Fists clenched, she watched him retreat into the building. His mere presence grated her nerves. Dying to regain control of her overflowing anger, she headed for the Gym, the only place where she'd found a friend. It seemed like everybody else was stonewalling her.

 

The huge basketball court was bustling with boys eager to prove they were the best. On the bleachers rested a few typical nerds, a cheerleading team and the person she'd come looking for. In his every day gray sweatpants and Adidas T-shirt, with his whistle hanging loosely around his neck was the P.E. teacher: Jack Morgan.

 

His piercing blue eyes, immediately came upon the F.B.I agent, waving at her in acknowledgment. Being so young- barely 28- and newly employed at the High School for almost a year, Jack had been the only one Melanie had connected with. He was the one she went to when she felt like she couldn't take it anymore, the one who listened to her go on and on about the dead end she'd hit in the case.

 

“Melanie, hi,” he led them to two unoccupied seats.”What brings you to my gym again?”

 

A blush crept up on Melanie's skin. “It's this case. I just don't seem to do anything right, do I? I mean, I've been here for weeks and all I've accomplished is letting two innocent girls die.”

 

As usual, the man heard her rant and then offered soothing words. “It's all right. They weren't your fault. Besides, I know you and I know eventually, you'll find your guy.”

 

Doubtful words were running in her head and just as she was about to voice them, her phone bleeped. It was a text message.

 

“I know who the killer is. Come to the Chemistry Lab in 10 minutes if you want to know. Alone. Don't tell anyone.”

 

She re-read the text. Was someone messing with her? No, somehow, she knew it was the real deal. It was like she could feel the honesty and fear seeping from the words.

 

Immediately standing up, she kissed Jack's cheek.”I have to go. I might have caught a break sooner than we imagined.”

 

The woman literally ran out of the gym, not once looking back. If she had turned around, she might have noticed the hateful pair of eyes focused on her. The rage behind them only spelled one word- _death_.

 

And it was approaching Forest Lake High School at the speed of light.

 

The Chemistry Lab was empty, as there were no classes at that period. The door creaked ominously and Melanie scanned the deserted room. No one appeared upon first inspection, but then a small figure hunched in a corner stepped into the light. She couldn't have been older than 15, but with the way she held herself, she looked even younger. The girl's eyes darted to Melanie, panic clear in her chocolate orbs.

 

“It's OK. I'm here and I'll help you. What's your name?” Melanie stepped forward slowly, emphasizing that she wasn't planning on hurting the girl.

 

“Elizabeth,” her voice trembled.”Are you here alone?”

 

“Yes. Elizabeth, do you know who the killer is?” the young girl nodded.”Can you tell me?”

 

Another nod and a deep breath. “It's Mr. Morgan.”

 

The answer might have been weak and mumbled, but still it had been clear enough to understand. Melanie felt like the entire planet crashed upon her. Her friend was the sadistic serial killer who mangled and abused teenage girls?

 

“Are-are you sure?” she managed to ask.

 

Another nod served to crush her further. Had her budding feelings for Jack blinded her that much? “How do you know?”

 

“I...” Elizabeth faltered, wrapping her arms around herself. “I saw him take Natalie to the woods. They were holding hands, but he kept looking behind as if he wanted to make sure nobody saw him. It was suspicious, but I just thought they were having an affair. Until....” for the first time she turned to look at Melanie, steel replacing previous hesitation.”Until I found out Natalie had been found in the woods. Dead.”

 

Jack was a serial killer. A serial killer.

 

It kept ringing in her head, her mind searching for a reasonable explanation. None came to mind. And if there was something she'd learned early on was that in her line of work coincidences didn't exist.

 

She'd told Jack about her potential break through. He'd been near enough to read from her screen if he should want to. Dread washed over her.

 

“Elizabeth, I want you to come you with me to the security booth. You'll wait there, safe while I go and arrest Jack.”

 

The corridors were eerily quiet and they made the short walk. Melanie willed herself to keep calm. Jack had no reason to think he'd been made, right? Her fake confidence plummeted upon reaching their destination. The only guard the High School had deemed appropriate to hire had a gruesome stab wound in his chest. Elizabeth shrieked and ran towards the door, prompting Melanie to follow. To her horror, the door was not budging, Elizabeth desperately tugging on it.

 

Jack had locked them in the High School. This had turned into his hunting ground.

 

Pulling the crying girl away, she retreated to the security booth, her gun providing some comfort. With shaking hands, she pulled out her mobile phone and called the local authorities who immediately dispatched some units to their location.

 

Earsplitting screams echoed through the corridors. Children started pouring out of the classrooms alerted by the noise. Melanie had learned the grounds enough to understand that they had been coming from the Biology Lab's way. She had to go and help, but leaving Elizabeth, the only alive witness she had unprotected was not something she was keen on doing. Reluctantly, she handed the girl her gun, giving her brief instruction on its usage: Aim and fire.

 

The panic only seemed to amplify when the kids found the locked doors. Teachers were trying their best to quell and hide their own fear in order to maintain control and a semblance of hope. Unfortunately, this was a relatively common infraction in the USA.

 

A high school massacre.

 

Maybe Jack's not killed anyone but the guard yet, came her inner self.

 

Those thoughts were squandered by the sight of a young brunette sprawled on the ground, her limbs at an unnatural angle and blood pouring out of her stomach. Just further ahead laid a plump, red-haired boy, his books scattered around him. His face was the epitome of terror, a scream painted there forever. Bile rose in her throat and Melanie forced herself to swallow it back. Breaking down would do nobody any good. Making her way through hordes of disoriented, scared kids was proving hard, especially seeing their reaction when they glanced at the bodies.

 

Doors were being thrown open, more pupils pouring out on the hallways, stumbling in search of safety. Only one door remained locked.

 

The Biology Lab.

 

Bracing herself for what might await, she tried the door knob only to find it closed. Through the small window on the door, she saw Jack, wielding a knife and fighting a tall, older student. The boy seemed to be losing ground fast, being overpowered by the teacher's raw power. Everyone else seemed to be stuck, their eyes glued to a spot on the ground. Whatever it was, a desk was covering Melanie's view.

 

She had to get in that room. Jack had locked himself in with 30 students. Thirty students who'd die if she didn't do something. Now.

 

Pulling on the knob seemed to do nothing but catch Jack's attention who flashed her an evil grin. She was glued to that spot, as the boy finally lost the fight and, after a well-placed hit to the torso and one to the chest, succumbed to the floor gasping for air. The P.E. teacher was moving on to the other paralyzed students when Melanie's legs finally listened to her.

 

Determined, Melanie inhaled and then, with all of her strength hit the glass. It shattered upon impact, dozens of shards embedding themselves in her skin. Ignoring the throb and blood running down her hand, she reached through the gap and opened the door.

 

It creaked and that was enough to pull some of the kids out of their petrified state and push them out of the door. Making room for them, she found herself staring at Jack. The guy she'd thought was amazing. The guy she'd befriended and even hoped for more. The guy who was now holding a blonde girl, his knife pressed against her throat hard enough to make her wince and draw a thin line of blood. Everyone else soon fled. Taking a few steps forward, she could see clearly what had everyone so transfixed.

 

Christian Harris was clutching at a bleeding wound in his side, his eyes glazed over in pain every breath torture for his weakened body. Jack followed her gaze and smirked. “That's what happens when you fancy playing the hero.”

 

Stiffening, she turned back to face the murderer. “Let her go, Jack. It's over. The police are coming. You can't escape this.”

 

“Who said I wanted to escape this?” his voice mocking her threats.

 

It made everything crystal clear. He hadn't locked them out. No, he'd locked himself in. This was his final stand and he was taking as many as he could with him.

 

“You were so easy, so gullible. The F.B.I. agent with her daddy issues and desire to be loved and accepted. I played you like a puppet on a string until that stupid girl saw me. You were supposed to be my last one, my masterpiece.” at the thought of what he'd lost something seemed to snap in him. “And now it's over.”

 

Melanie could see the glint in his eyes before he moved. He slit the girl's throat and tossed her body aside like she was a sack of garbage he couldn't wait to dispose of.

 

Menacingly, he moved towards her, his intent obvious. He would finish his plan- kill her- and then commit suicide. Without wanting to, she took a step back. It wasn't enough, because in two long strides he was inches away from her, swinging the knife, attempting to hit her. Instinctively, she grabbed his hand, wrestling to gain control of the knife or make him drop it.

 

Despite her training, she was not prepared for the hit across the cheek. It made her lose her balance, drop to the floor, black spots covering her vision. He jumped on top of her and she barely had the time to catch his knife-wielding hand in both of hers. Still, her muscles were rippling with the effort it took to hold him at bay. Just as she felt her hands give in and prepared for the killing blow, Jack collapsed, unconscious on top of her.

 

Christian was standing over them, holding what appeared to be a desk lamp. His wound was bleeding profoundly and he was far from steady on his feet. He'd saved her. He'd saved her life. Pushing Jack away from her after ensuring that the knife was out of his reach, she struggled to catch her breath. Sirens could be heard signaling the arrival of the police.

 

It was over. They would take care of the rest.

 

A loud thud proved that not everything was all right, after all. The Biology teacher had collapsed, the strain of what he'd done taking his last reserves. Immediately, Melanie bolted to her feet, dropped next to him and pressed her hands hard on the wound. It was in vain, blood escaping though her fingers.

 

“Christian! Christian!” she yelled until his eyes opened to slits.”That's it. Stay with me. The ambulance is here. Don't you dare die on me! Not after you just saved my life, damn it!”

 

“You're...” he coughed up blood.”Welcome.”

 

His eyes closed after that.”No!” Melanie's tears falling freely now.”No! Open your eyes.” she broke into sobs.”Open your eyes, Christian!”

 

He didn't listen to her, his eyes remaining shut, his blood loss too great to survive. The paramedics barged into the room mere seconds after.

 

But it was a few seconds too late for Christian Harris, the true hero at Lake Forest High School.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay in updating, but these past weeks have been a whirlwind of events. My grandfather unfortunately passed away and I just couldn't seem to concentrate enough to get this chapter done in a satisfying enough manner. I hope it doesn't disappoint you, guys, but if it does, I apologize. Anyways, thank you for reading and I hope you can enjoy it.

 

She wasn't coming out.

 

It had to have been over 15 minutes and neither Melanie nor the bodyguard had come out. His girls were squeezing his hands so hard the blood flow had probably ceased, but that was the last of his worries. At first, Roger had hoped for a false alarm, but as seconds rolled, he knew such option was no longer viable. Now, he was convinced that something was seriously wrong.

 

His stalker. He was probably in his house.

 

“You have to go in there,” he addressed the former marine, his voice as composed as humanly possible for the sake of his daughters.

 

Tom just shook his head. “I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Federer. My main concern is keeping you and your children safe.”Nothing betrayed any feelings on the former sniper's face except for the clench of his jaw.

 

Roger wanted to scream. His mother and babies were also in there. If something happened to them it would be because of him. He was the one being protected. It was not fair and he couldn't let this continue. He wouldn't. Not anymore.

 

“No. Your main concern is to make sure my family and Melanie are safe. I'll be fine,” the man still wouldn't budge.”Just go in there, for Christ's sake! They could die! Do something!” He was nearly begging, tears threatening to spill.

 

“I can't.”

 

“No, you listen to me,” just as he was about to yell out his frustration and anger at the top of his lungs, footsteps could be heard from inside the darkened house. Tom drew out his gun and pointed it at the door. His posture was tense, but there was no hesitation. This man would aim to kill any foe. Steeling himself for confrontation, he drew his kids even closer, shielding them with his body from any threat that might come through the front door.

 

Could he finally be coming face to face with his stalker?

 

“Don't shoot!” came a man's voice that he recognized as the guy who'd entered the house with Melanie. Tom relaxed slightly, but the gun was still clenched tightly in his hand. Martin emerged, a baby safely tucked in his arms, Lynette shortly after him with the other twin. Roger heaved a sigh of relief, but it was cut short as reality dawned on him.

 

Melanie wasn't with them.

 

“Where is she?” he ran to Martin and grabbed his shoulders. “Where. Is. She?”

 

“I...” the man seemed at a loss, his eyes drawn to the tennis player holding his shoulders.”I don't know,”he shook his head, averting his eyes.

 

Roger felt the air knocked out of his lungs. She had to be fine. She was probably just messing with him and would come out in a moment. She had to come out. When she didn't, his legs nearly gave up on him. His stalker had threatened her. What if he made good of his promise? No, he would not stand by and allow something like that to happen.

 

Quickly, before anyone could  even think of stopping him, he ran inside his house,  screaming her name.

 

There was no answer.

 

“Melanie,” he tried again as he slammed open door after door, all regards to personal safety thrown away. Someone was screaming for him to stop, but he ignored them. Climbing the stairs, it was like something was guiding his steps. Perhaps it was his heart or maybe God, but at the moment he would listen to the Devil himself in order to reach Melanie.

 

That's when he felt it. The nauseating, metallic stench of blood. His frenzied run stopped as his trembling hand hoovered over the knob. He was preparing himself for what he might find.

 

He stepped into the room.

 

What he found tore his heart to shreds. One of his bodyguards was dead, his throat slit open. Melanie was on the ground, blood forming a halo around her mahogany hair. She wasn't moving. The distance between them was too great to see if she was breathing. An irrational, paralysing fear was creeping in and he was hesitating to check if she was alive.

 

What if he got nearer and realized she was dead?

 

Still, he had to go. He owed her this much. No, he owed her much more and he would prove it if he got another chance.

 

One step. And another. And another.

 

That's when he saw it. The rise of her chest. A breath. Shallow, but it was there and it made his heart soar with happiness.

 

“Melanie,” he dropped to his knees, not caring about the blood soaking his trousers and looked over the fallen woman. A nasty wound was on her temple bleeding profoundly, but the rest of her body seemed unscathed. Hesitating for a moment, his fingers rested on her cheek. “Melanie, wake up,” he pleaded, but no response came.”Melanie, please wake up.” She was so pale, so fragile, nothing like the strong woman that he'd met and who'd barge into a blackened house to save someone's life. Gently cradling her body into his arms, like a porcelain doll that might break, he noticed for the first time the words spelled in crimson near her:

 

_Deceitful w_ _hore._

 

It was so wrong. How could anyone associate such a vile term to Melanie? If anything, she was the total opposite.

 

Meanwhile, the others had caught up with him. Barking an order to call a doctor he carried Melanie to his room, placing her on his bed. Clutching her hand, he waited for the medics to come whilst begging her to wake up. It didn't happen and his worry was escalating with every second.

 

What if her head wound was life-threatening? What if she never woke up again? What if she had suffered brain damage or some other sort of permanent injury?

 

Long, agonizing seconds trickled by as he could do nothing but caress her small hand in the hope that it will stir some sort of reaction. Eventually, the ambulance did arrive and he was ushered to the back of the room while Melanie's condition was being assessed. The medic's verdict lifted the stone that had settled over his heart slowly crushing it.

 

She was going to be fine. Other than a concussion there appeared to be no other injury, but the doctors wished to take her in for an MRI, to be on the safe side. Just as he was giving his consent to have her transferred to a hospital, a whimper caught their attention.

 

“Christian...no...I,” Melanie was trashing and turning in the bed, clearly victim of a nightmare.”I'm sorry....Christian!” Without much thought, Roger rushed to her side, coaxing her awake. When her light brown orbs opened, the tennis player felt a sudden rush of happiness, like nothing he'd experienced before.

 

“Roger?” she mumbled weakly.

 

“Yes, I'm here. You're going to be fine. Everything's going to be all right.”

 

“Wh-what happened?” her hand rushed to her bandaged head, wincing in pain at the movement. Suddenly, her eyes widened as memories kicked in. “He was here, your stalker,” she added in a frenzied pace. “He was here and he killed...God he killed Taylor!”

 

“Shh, it's fine. Don't worry, he's gone. You need to rest and recover your strength.”

 

Out of the blue, the doctor appeared by her bedside. “Ms. Hunter, it's good to see you awake. We'd like to take you in for a couple of tests. You suffered a serious concussion and we'd like to be sure there is no further damage.”

 

The bodyguard adamantly shook her head. “No hospital.”

 

“Ma'am we have to rule out the possibility of brain injury.”The poor doctor spoke slowly, as if he had an obnoxious child before him.

 

Well, screw him and his lectures, thought Melanie haughtily.“Look, I've had a concussion before. I know the red flags and I've no memory or concentration problems. I only have a headache. Trust me, I've worked for the F.B.I. and I've had much worse happen to me. Go tend to others who are in more need of your care. I appreciate your concern, but honestly, you're wasting it. I'm fine.”

 

The doctor grumbled some more, mostly about stubborn agents who didn't ever listen to doctor's orders, but in the end wrote a prescription for pain killers and ordered bed rest for the next 2 days with no straining activities for at least 10 more and that if the need presented they do not hesitate to call him. Of course, Melanie complained every step of the way that he was exaggerating.

 

Only after she was alone in the room, Roger gone to show the medic out and change into clothes that were not blood soaked, did she allow herself a rare moment of weakness. Taylor's last moments flashed before her eyes. He'd bled out in her arms. Just as Christian had once upon a time. Tears were welling up only at the brief remembrance of that incident. No, she could not fall apart. Not yet. Things were still blurry as a result of the fabulous concussion she'd acquired. She needed to arrange her thoughts and connect the missing pieces of her fragmented memories.

 

The stalker, focus on the stalker, Melanie, she repeated over and over until clearing her head. He could have killed her. Why hadn't he? Add to those questions the fact that her head was pounding and that she felt like vomiting every time she moved and she got a perfect combination. Alas, something else was bothering here. The stalker, there had been something familiar about him. She felt like she'd met him before.

 

Come on, Melanie, get a hold of yourself. You can't have possibly known that man, her inner self reassured, but a fragment of doubt refused to abandon her completely.

 

A knock interrupted her relentless mind from further senseless exhaustion. An almost shy Roger entered carrying a glass of water and what appeared to be a bottle of pills. “I brought you water and the pain killers the doctor prescribed,” he placed them on the bedside table offering her a lingering look and clearing his throat.”I'll leave you to get some rest.” The tone of his voice was solemn, almost hesitant. He was different than the Roger with whom she'd just spent an unforgivable day. Well, unforgivable until a murderous psychopath interrupted them.

 

“What's wrong? Are you all right?” a dark thought blossomed and she cursed herself for not asking before.”Are Lynette and the babies fine? I couldn't find them. I tried, I really did, but they weren't there.” Tears were brimming in the corner of her eyes at the mere thought of something occurring to Roger's family.

 

Once again, Roger felt his heart swell at Melanie's selfless nature. Here she was, stuck in bed, injured and her first thoughts were of concern regarding his family.“They're OK. Mom went back to her place with the kids. Being around me is not safe. For anyone. It looks like she finally understood that,” he pondered for a moment carefully choosing his next words..”If you want to go back to the USA, I'll understand.”

 

Was he joking? After all this time did he really not know her at all? “You really think this is enough to scare me off? I've told you before and I will tell you again until you get it through your thick skull. I'm not going anywhere, Roger. I thought you would know that about me after all this time. I don't abandon the people I care about, nor do I let them down. So your offer to leave offends me.”

 

“What if you should go?” He raised his voice and defiantly eyed her. Behind the determination set in his maroon orbs, laid something else.

 

“Do you _want_ me to go?” she threw back in the exact same tone.

 

“Of course not, but...” Concern. That was it. Genuine concern and guilt hid behind his rough tone.

 

“No buts. I'm not leaving unless you want me gone. And that's not that far fetched of an option.”Taking a deep breath she prepared herself. This was a conversation she'd been hoping to have when she was feeling better, but there was nothing to be done about it now. “There are things you don't know about me and my past. And before we move any forward with whatever this is,” she gestured at the almost inexistent gulf between them.”I owe it to you to tell you. Then you'll decide whether I stay or go. I will respect your decision, whatever that may be.” Although my heart will break if you send me away, she refrained herself from saying that out loud.

 

“Melanie, there's nothing you could say that would make me tell you to leave.” Roger took a deep breath.”But I bring death to those around me. And I couldn't stand it if something happened to you. When I saw you on that floor, bleeding, I... the seconds when I believed you dead. I never, you hear me, never want to go through that again,” his voice broke.”I couldn't stand losing you too. And the only way I can secure your safety is by ensuring you stay as far as humanly possible from me.”

 

Such sincerity laced his voice that Melanie felt a lump build in her throat. It was keeping her from forming any response and tears were threatening to spill. Roger was right, not that she would ever admit it, but her affection- to put it lightly- for him made her irrational. Honestly speaking, the stalker could have killed her at any second. She had been at his mercy. So why had he hesitated? Her brief Criminal Psychology course provided the necessary answer. He was sending a message. That they were at his mercy. Still, her gut screamed there had to be more and one glance at Roger confirmed he was indeed hiding something from her.

 

“What are you not telling me?” Upon his hesitation she continued.”Roger, just tell me. Whatever it is, I can take it, I'm strong, remember?” she even forced a smile.

 

“He left a message,” he cleared his throat.”He wrote in blood next to you ' _deceitful whore_ '.”

 

The air was knocked out of Melanie's lungs. Not because of the insult, but because of how right the stalker was. And she was going to reveal the part of her past that made her like that. Today. Roger must have taken her silence for hurt since he was quick to reassure her.”He is a crazed man. Nothing he says holds any value...”

 

She cut him off. “But it does. As much as I don't want to admit it, he's right about me.” Roger stared incredulously at her, opening his mouth, probably to combat her statement.”Just hear me out. You've disclosed you darkest secrets to me. It's time I did the same. Then, it's up to you to decide whether you still wish for me to act as your bodyguard.”

 

“Melanie, I didn't tell you of my past to make you feel obligated to share. And I couldn't care less about your 'darkest secrets', as you put it. However, if you feel the need to talk about anything with me, I'm here. Whether it is so you can lean on me or drive me crazy with your unparalleled courage, I will always be here for you.”

 

Tears had been brought to her eyes. Those were among the most beautiful things anyone had ever said to her. It was a shame that he would go back on them after hearing her story. He wouldn't even want her as a bodyguard. Truth being told, why would he desire such a failure to have his back? Inhaling deeply, she prepared for what was coming and started to tell him about her 'career making' case. The details about the architecture. interior design of the building and gruesome modus operandi of the killer were pointless, but she was stalling the great reveal. She knew it, yet the sentences refused to form. Come on, Melanie, just do it, willed her mind. Biting the bullet, she commenced:

 

“The breakthrough did come, but sometimes I wish it hadn't. At least not in the way it did. A girl, Elizabeth, approached me, claiming she knew the killer's identity.” Roger gasped audibly. Thankfully, he didn't interrupt her nor did he pose any questions because she wasn't sure she was able to answer them or return to the story afterwards. Her headache had intensified, the feeling being that of someone drilling a hole into her skull. She had to get this over with or she would break down. “It was Jack Morgan.”

 

A thick silence took over the room. Roger was staring at her wide-eyed, in obvious disbelief, his mouth resembling that of a fish, opening and closing repeatedly. A bitter laugh rose in her throat and cut through the unnerving silence. “Yeah, I fell for a serial killer. My taste in men has clearly evolved in the last year, right?” she tried for humour but neither one of them had it in them to taste it.

 

Hesitantly, he voiced the first phrase since the beginning of her story. “What happened?”

 

“He knew. Somehow he knew I'd found out the truth.” Images flashed before her eyes. Children bleeding out. Christian dying in her arms. Gutted bodies peppered around the hallways. Hollow eyes staring at her, life having left them. Hot tears were now rolling down her cheeks. She was closer to breaking down than she'd ever been. Truth be told, she hadn't spoken about this to anybody. “He killed...” a sob tore through her ribcage, preventing the words from coming out. “He killed them all...”

 

Melanie wrapped her hands protectively around her torso, her entire body quivering under the strength of her whimpers. Chocolate eyes held a blank stare and she seemed to be reliving those horrible moments. Since she appeared to be too far gone for words, he pulled her into his chest and tried to soothe her as best as he could. “... died.....because of me....Jack.” The words were muffled by his shirt, but he got the gist of it. She was blaming herself. This selfless woman was carrying the burden of probably dozens of lives. In what Universe was this fair? Which God allowed such demons to torture a pure heart like Melanie's?

 

However hard he tried to repeat that it wasn't her fault, his statements didn't seem to register. So he waited a few more minutes while she settled down for a bit and separated their bodies. Roger already missed her warmth, but for what he had to say, eye-contact was crucial.

 

“It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known,” Melanie shook her head, rejecting his comforting words.”No, you will hear me out just like I once heard you. You were as much a victim as those kids were. And the ones who made it out of that school owe it partially to you.”

 

“No, they don't. I was powerless to stop Jack's hatred and crazy thirst for blood. If it hadn't been for Christian, who sacrificed his life that night, many more including myself would be dead now. He was the hero and I was the pitiful damsel in distress.”

 

“Melanie please don't” he tightened his hold, softly wiping the tracks of her tears.

 

“It's the truth, Roger. I spent my whole life running away from being helpless and in need of saving. And what did I end up? When it mattered, I was powerless, a puppet who danced by Jack's tune.” she tried to loosen his hold on her, stop this embarrassing display of vulnerability, but he would have none of it.

 

“Melanie, you are the bravest person I know. Never think any less of yourself. You showed me how to erase the self-loathing that was eating me alive, chaining my heart and I can do the same for you.” he cupped her head with his hands forcing her tear-laden eyes to look at him.”I won't stop until you see yourself through my eyes. Beautiful. Bold. Selfless. And most of all, courageous. The way you just described yourself, that's not the person I know. That's not my Melanie Hunter.”

 

To say she was speechless did not even come close to measuring her reaction to his declaration. Her heart was soaring because he hadn't fired and thrown her out on the spot, like the despicable person she was, but it still couldn't bring itself to accept that the massacre hadn't been her fault. Roger was blinded by whatever was budding between them. “Roger, no...”

 

A finger covered her lips, interrupting her. “No more arguing. If you don't believe my words, I'll show you.” Without further warning, he pressed his own lips against hers. Compared to the furious kiss they'd shared in the locker room, this was meant to prove a point. Roger was pouring all of his yearning, anguish and love into this kiss. By pulling her to him and entwining their bodies in a desperate attempt to convey everything words failed to express. The way he was moving his lips, in perfect sync with Melanie's, the way their bodies melded together, that could be no coincidence. They were made for each other, he could finally see it and he was putting each and every feeling into this kiss. He was offering his heart on a silver platter to Melanie. “I'm yours,” he gasped between kisses. “Not believing in you, in the goodness residing in you would mean not believing in myself and I spent so much time second guessing my very own existence on this Earth that I simply refuse to continue down that road. Melanie, you're the one who healed my heart, who showed me the right path. Everything I have, everything I am today, it's yours.”

 

The woman pulled away, and looked him straight into his maroon orbs. “And I'm yours, if you'll have me,” she whispered tentatively.

 

“I thought you'd never ask.” He pulled her in for a slow, deep kiss, sealing their promises of love- the feeling they both had in mind, but neither could voice. Suddenly, Melanie ran her hands over Roger's thick, brown curls, gently pulling, igniting the dormant passion hidden in both of them behind layer upon layer of self hate and disgust. Melanie begged his lips to open with the soft caresses of her tongue and he obliged, giving into the consuming desire, lacing his hand into her locks. The wince Melanie tried to hide when he unwillingly touched the bandage on her head did not go unnoticed, prompting Roger to pull back immediately.

 

“I'm sorry. Melanie, I'm so sorry, did I hurt you?”

 

“I'm fine.” he eyed her skeptically.”It's just a mild headache, really, don't look so mortified. You could never hurt me, really. I know what hurt is and your kisses are the exact opposite, trust me.”

 

“Right. Let's not forget that the doctor ordered rest and no strenuous activity and we seem to be royally ignoring all of his indications.”

 

Melanie groaned at the mention of the doctor, rolling her eyes. “He's just overreacting, as doctors like to do. I'm fine. In fact, I was more than fine moments ago. Let's resume that strenuous activity. I assure you my body can take it.”

 

The way in which she was batting her lashes, attempting to seduce him and convince him to continue was tempting. Very tempting indeed, Roger would admit, but her health came above anything else. Even above those steamy kisses that drove him insane and those pictures his mind conjured of him touching and kissing every inch of her body, him burying himself deep inside her. No, there will be plenty of time for that later. Besides, she was in a vulnerable state and it would feel wrong. “I'm sorry but life as an athlete taught me the importance of listening to your doctor's orders.”

 

That last line earned a pout from the woman. “And life as a federal agent taught me to ignore each and every one of those orders,” she replied proudly.

 

Roger snorted. “You're not winning this fight. Rest up so you can recover and then we can continue all you like.”

 

“I hate you right now, you know that? I absolutely detest you.” She pretended to be upset, but his concern was flattering and it made her insides feel all warm and fuzzy. She hadn't felt like this since Jack. No, this was much more than that. This was real. Shaking off that threatening part of her past, she stared down Roger Federer with her best annoyed look.

 

“I'm still going to leave, regardless of how freaking difficult you make this for me,” he leaned in for another brief peck on the lips. “Besides I have a guest room to prepare.”

 

Guest room? What was he going on about? Did he also hit his head? Should she be worried? After one glance at her surrounding where dark grey walls greeted her along with black mahogany furniture she realized she must be in Roger's room. In his bed. A blush was forming on her cheeks and Roger was eyeing her curiously, unsure of what was causing her reaction.

 

“I'm in your room,” she asked but it sounded more of a statement. “In your bed,” she wanted to hit herself after that stupid remark. Her face was burning and she was probably redder than a tomato. The tennis player smirked, clearly enjoying her discomfort. The cocky bastard.

 

“Yeah, in my sheets, where I sleep,” he added, obviously to double her embarrassment.

 

Screw him and his ego who cannot be shaken. “Well, these sheets will be getting more action than you, Mr. Cocky, tonight,” she narrowed her eyes, annoyed that he was making fun of her.

 

“Will they now?” he leaned over her frame, lips millimetres away from touching. Melanie nodded, the proximity to the tennis player rendering her unable to think straight. That was probably why the next words left her mouth in such a pitifully weak voice. “Unless you choose to stay with me.”

 

Roger had closed off the distance, she could feel his warm, steady breath touch her face. She closed her eyes in expectation of the upcoming kiss. “Tempting. Very tempting.” but he pulled away, her body immediately missing his warmth. “But we can't.”

 

This man has an iron will, her inner exclaimed angrily at having been left unsatisfied for the night. Now, with him a little bit farther away from her, Melanie could resume her logical thinking. There he was, slowly walking out of the room, and an irrational part of herself din not want to be alone. Not tonight. Behind all of the jokes and sexual innuendos exchanged between them, a dark cloud had gathered over her mind. She doubted she could get any sleep, her fear of nightmares, of seeing Christian and Taylor again too great. Yet Roger's presence helped defeat some her her demons, easing her fight. And tonight she was too exhausted to even put up a fight, she just wanted to enjoy blissful surrender.

 

Roger had turned off the lights and was exiting the room when she gathered up the courage to say words she had never said. Not even when she'd been a little girl who was afraid of the monsters lurking in the shadows after a nightmare. No, not even then had she possessed the guts to showcase her fear. Now though, those reasons paled in comparison to her yearning to have Roger's soothing presence beside her.

 

“Wait,” she whispered.”Don't leave. Stay.”

 

He stopped in his tracks and turned to watch her. Sighing,”I told you that we can't. I don't want to hurt you, Melanie.”

 

“No,” she jumped to add.”Not like that, it's just that,” she bit her lip.”Roger, I really don't want to be alone tonight.”

 

Roger knew how hard it must have been for such a proud woman to even say these words. Honestly speaking, who could blame her? After all she'd been through. Hell, he didn't want to be alone and he hadn't felt even half of her pain. “Of course.” he shut the door and headed for the bed where he remained, waiting for her to say something, acknowledge that it was OK for him to lie on the same bed as her. The moment quickly turned awkward because she remained silent, her brows furrowing.

 

You're an asshole, he thought, she nearly died in the hands of your stalker and you can't wait to get in bed with her. Screw what she said before about being with him. She was clearly pleased by his kisses, but needed time to process the events, not have a tennis player jump into her bed. Tonight Melanie needed a protector, to will away bad memories, not an aroused athlete. Looking around the room he knew so well, confirmation of what he'd already known came. He had refused the company of others in the last months so his room wasn't equipped for visitors, let alone those who would stay the night. There was only a small wooden chair on which his racket bag would sometimes be placed after a practice session. It will have to do, he concluded and turned towards it.

 

“Where are you going?” Melanie asked confused.

 

“Oh, don't worry, I'm not leaving. I'm just going to sleep on that chair. You make yourself comfortable, I'm not going anywhere.”

 

Melanie raised a curious eyebrow before she burst out laughing, containing herself only when a grimace appeared on her face, probably from the pain her injury caused. “You're an idiot, Roger Federer. Why in the world would you assume I want you to stay on that chair?”

 

To say he was even more confused was the understatement of the year. She didn't want him to sleep on the chair? Did that mean....?

 

“Look at that chair, Roger. Even if you try to keep it from prying eyes, I know that your back occasionally hurts and I sure as hell ain't making it worse.”

 

His back? She was worried about his back? He was going to be fine, nothing a few painkillers wouldn't fix and if it made her comfortable, he would sleep on the floor next to her bed for the rest of his life.”But...”

 

She stopped his protests.”No more buts, Roger, or so help me God, I will kick your ass. I want you to sleep next to me, in your bed. I want that for as long as you'll allow it to happen.” she felt her cheeks heat at the bold admission.

 

The most beautiful smile she'd ever seen graced his features as he all but jumped next to her, under the warm cocoon of the blankets. He was dying to hold her in his arms but was afraid that she would reject him or worse, that he would hurt her. As he was weighing the pros and cons of making a move, Melanie surprised him once again by closing the distance between them and laying her head on his shoulder. His body responded on its own, wrapping a protective arm around Melanie.

 

“Forever.” at her inquiring shake of the head he continued.”That's how long I intend to keep you in my bed. Actually, if it were up to me, we would never leave this bed.”

 

A quiet laugh escaped at his cheeky remark and she raised her head to plant a soft kiss on his lips, rotating her body so she could see him. “I wish we could. You know, sometimes, I wish I could just close my eyes and make the world disappear. That we would be alone, with no worries,” he ran his fingers down her arm and she felt his wedding band. “With no haunting pasts,” no dead wives or lovers turned serial killers, she longed to add. “With no crazy stalker on our trails,” she said instead.

 

“But we can't,” sadness engulfed his words.

 

She threw a quick, fugitive glance at the simple, yellow gold circle reigning over his finger. It represented his pain. Pain he still hadn't escaped entirely, fact proven by the presence of the object. In some twisted way, the car accident that had taken Mirka away from him had represented her own chance at happiness. Suffice it to say, she was disgusted by the mere thoughts she was entertaining. If she could go back in time, she would change the past. She would save Roger's wife even if it meant losing him. Yeah, she would definitely prevent the car crash. Car crash- that's when her old suspicions resurfaced. She'd had no time to rationalize or dig deeper into the events, but her instincts were telling her that the stalker might have had something to do with Mirka's death. Instead of voicing her doubts, she chose to keep quiet and investigate until some proof emerged.

 

“What's with the sudden silence?” Roger questioned and followed her eyes to the ring. Realization lighted his obsidian orbs. “Oh,” he managed to whisper, seemingly lost inside his mind palace. Visions of first meeting Mirka, her strong personality, him chasing her relentlessly, the dreaded and feared proposal and their happy marriage over the years. He had kept the ring to never forget his wife, never forget his guilt, but now, with Melanie safely tucked in his arms, he understood that Mirka would never disappear. No, she would live on through his kids who would always know what a wonderful person their mother was. He would make damn sure of it.

 

However, maybe it was time to let go of the pain, hatred and loneliness, stop living in the past and focus on the present- his present- Melanie. “I've worn this as a constant reminder of the damage my carelessness provoked. I believed that as long as I had it on, Mirka would never truly die. That she would remain by my side,” he lifted his hand, to study the slim wedding band. “I think that through it I was punishing myself,” he continued to stare at it.” It only brings pain. So why is it so difficult to take it off?”

 

The last, whispered question tore at hear heart's seams. “I-I don't know.” In moments like this, Melanie wished she was better at comforting people and expressing her emotions. For the second time today, she felt utterly useless.

 

“It feels like tearing away a part of me.”

 

“Then don't take it off yet, not until you are ready.” Although it broke her heart to look at it, know that whatever he felt for her paled in comparison to the memory of his dead wife, pressuring him was something she didn't have in her."I would never ask you to do anything you weren't comfortable with, Roger. I'm not asking you to take it off, do you hear me? I'm not."

 

“I saw the way you looked at it. I recognized the feeling hidden behind it. Pain. I never want to cause you pain,” closing his eyes, a pensive grimace made its way to his perfect features.”I thought nothing compared to Mirka's loss, but seeing you hurt,” puffing he shook his head.”That felt like ripping my heart out.”

 

Without warning, under Melanie's shocked gaze, he removed the ring from its place, placing it on his palm. Weighing it, he frowned. “I feel...”

 

“Pained? Sorrowful? Uneasy?” A steady supply of negative emotional states escaped Melanie's mouth in anticipation of Roger putting on the ring again after experiencing a few seconds without its comfort.

 

“Free.” he smiled.”I feel free. I feel like myself again, without the sword of what I'd done hanging over my head,” he placed the piece of jewellery on his night stand. “You did this, you brought me back.” Grabbing her hand, he kissed each and every finger.”Thank you.”

 

Surprised at his reaction and display of affection, she could barely mumble a response, her inner jumping in excitement at the development. Still, the pounding headache had not let up and she refused to take another painkiller. They made her too sleepy and clouded her mind. Under current circumstances, she needed to be alert. A repeat of today would not occur again on her watch. The stalker would be caught and he would face justice even if it was the last thing she did in her mind.

 

Sensing her fatigue,”We should get some sleep. You can barely keep your eyes open.”

 

Everything inside her body screamed for some rest, but an irrational part of her did not want this night to end. Tomorrow, they had to leave for the Dubai Championships, the stalker would still be lurking in the shadows and now...Now she was sure that nothing would prevent her from keeping Roger safe. Although not a religious person by nature, she sent out a prayer meant to protect Roger.

 

Unexpectedly, the feeling of being watched reappeared. Goosebumps erupted all over her pale skin and a shiver ran through her body. “Hey, what's wrong?” questioned Roger upon feeling her tremble.

 

“I just...” shaking off her head.”It's probably nothing, but I felt like somebody is watching us. I mean I know it's more likely impossible, but I haven't been able to shake this off lately.”

 

Kissing her forehead, he tightened his grip on her.”We're safe here. There is now way that he can watch us in my own house. Just rest, you've been through a lot today.”

 

How right he was! Her entire body ached, the worse headache in her life having reached its monstrous peak. The energy to point out that the stalker had breached their security once today was lacking. Having finally convinced her brain to shut down, she relaxed her tense, expectant muscles. By then Roger was fast asleep. Her gaze lingered on the nearby window. It was a cold night, the wind's howling audible. Judging by the thick, black clouds, a storm was on its way. As weird as it may be, storms had always served to calm Melanie down. Slowly, she began to doze off.

 

A crash echoed in the room startled her.

 

The shadow of a raven at their window, struggling to get up and fly off from the sill was explanatory. The poor thing must have hit it. Roger seemed too out of it to have heard it, but this unexpected occurrence only enhanced Melanie's previous unease. Long after the bird had gone, the agent's mind lingered on a raven's popular significance. It chilled her to the bone.

 

 _Death_.

 

Unknown to anyone but herself, right before her grandfather, the person that had meant the most to her had died, she'd seen a raven rest on her window pane. The same happened with her grandmother and one of her best friends. Sure, some claimed the bird meant rebirth or intelligence, but for her it was nothing but a bad omen.

 

If history repeated itself, and it had a tendency to do so, then death was circling them, waiting to take its prey. And it rarely failed in capturing its wanted soul.

 

 


End file.
